The Mockingjay's Call
by quinnthelionheartedgirl
Summary: When Quinn finds herself competing in the 74th Hunger Games, she must fight for her life, her love, and her humanity... though the odds are most definitely not in her favor. AU, set in the Hunger Games universe. Faberry, with Brittana in later chapters. Rated M for violence, and some sexual content in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1: The Calm Before the Storm

"Quinn, don't you dare ruin that lovely dress your mother picked out for you!" my father shouted out the front door as I trotted down the front walk. I rolled my eyes.

"Of course not father!" I shouted over my shoulder as I walked towards the front gate. My heels clicked on the cobblestone road as I slowed my pace a bit, listening intently for the sound of the front door closing. The door was pulled shut with a satisfying bang, followed by the faint yet distinct sound of the deadbolt lock sliding into place. I quickened my pace again, following fence towards the far eastern corner of our property instead of the front gate to the south, eyes intently focused on the bay windows of the eastern wing of the house. Just as my father's silhouette came into sight in the study's window on the second story, I ducked behind the large pine tree at the eastern-most point of our property, slightly afraid to look back in case he caught a glimpse of me. To my great relief and satisfaction, he pulled the curtains closed, and I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding.

A sly smirk began to play at my lips.

I had absolutely no intention of ruining the dress.

However, I also had absolutely no intention of wearing it.

Not until this afternoon, at least.

On the horizon, the sun was just barely rising, and didn't seem to be in any hurry to pierce through the veil of fog that reduced the town in the distance to dark shadows looming in a sea of white mist. My breath hung in the air in puffs of white smoke, and I shivered as I slipped between two loose boards in the fence. On the other side was a dense grove of pine trees, shielding me from the prying eyes of any travelers along the road. I quickly stripped off the cardigan sweater, unzipped the back of the dress, and pulled the ridiculous thing over my head. I was glad to be rid of it.

Underneath the dress I wore a simple, dark green, long-sleeved shirt, which I had concealed under the sensible long sleeves of my white cardigan. The shirt was tucked into a pair of durable, denim jeans that had been rolled up to the knees to hide them from view under the obnoxiously frilly dress my father (not my mother, as he had claimed) had picked out for me. I had a simple, black, leather belt around my waist, buckled over my left hip rather than the front, since it was easier to conceal with the buckle to the side. I tied my shoulder length, blonde hair up in a simple ponytail, and reached into a hidden hole at the base of the largest pine tree to extract a pair of well worn, sturdy, leather boots that came up about halfway up my calf. With a victorious grin I kicked off my fancy heels, folded the dress and the sweater into a clean piece of cloth, and hid the whole ensemble in the hole, concealing the entrance with a few handfuls of branches and brush.

I brushed myself off and smiled warmly, despite the chill in the air and the early hour. In dresses and heels, my chest was cold and empty. I felt fragile, just like the porcelain dolls my father would bring me from the Capitol for my birthday each year. Of course, that's exactly what my father wanted; a pretty, pale, and lifeless porcelain doll to parade in front of his friends and acquaintances. I was being groomed to be a prize to award to some colleague's son once we came of age, so I could be transformed from a porcelain doll into a trophy wife. I was to be elegant, petite, delicate, and subservient. I was supposed to smile with my teeth, not my eyes. Everything had to be just so. One must keep up appearances, after all.

I broke into a brisk run heading northward, laughing as I felt the sting of the icy air on my face and in my lungs. As my pace quickened, I felt the life return to me, freeing me from the prisons of expectations and appearances. The woods rushed by, familiar and wild; I could run through it blindfolded, I was sure. I knew each rock to leap from, every branch to duck under or jump over, and every path through my secret forest. Despite my fast pace, I made little noise, knowing just how to move about the paths and brush to dampen the sounds of my footsteps. Three years of forbidden adventuring, through many scraped knees and hands, had taught me to move through the wood in a way that my public lifestyle would not suggest I was capable of.

I focused myself as the woods began to thin; the district fence loomed in ahead of me, and I skidded to a halt a few paces before it. I ducked between two redwoods that the fence cut between. Their branches were low and heavy with needles, and several smaller trees and bushes formed a tangled ring around the base. They created a small grove in which one such as myself could hide. I crouched beside the fence and listened, holding my breath to ensure I would be able to hear the hum if the fence was live.

It was, as usual, completely silent.

The fence was supposed to have an electric current running through it to keep the flesh eaters away from the district's residents, but it's tall height was enough of a deterrent, and most of the Seam only had a few hours of electricity per a day to begin with. Most people weren't brave enough to venture anywhere near it anyway; there wasn't a single reason to be outside the fence that wasn't incredibly dangerous, but more importantly, incredibly illegal. The residents of district 12 (and all other districts, I assumed) were forbidden from possessing weapons, lest they incite revolt against the Capitol. Any tool that was worth using for hunting was, hypothetically, capable of being used against a human being. Possessing even a simple spear or too large of a utility knife was enough proof for a charge of treason, and the sentence was death. Poaching wild game was also punishable by death, even if you didn't use any sort of conventional weapon to catch it. It was proof that you had broken a rule, and the Capitol loved their rules almost as much as they loved reminding the districts what the rules were and how we would pay the price for breaking them.

There were still some who risked it; being executed was quick, but dying of starvation was slow, and most of the Seam was desperate for sustenance. Even most of the Capitol officials were living on the edge of hunger, and though being caught outside the fence was always punished with death, many were willing to look the other way if some fresh meat somehow appeared at the shady black market, the Hob. Sometimes, fresh meat was mysteriously dropped off after dark under a back porch or inside an empty barrel and exchanged for payment in coins or other untraceable goods. As long as no one mentioned it, the system worked. It was no way to get rich, but it could mean the difference between life and death for many who couldn't survive on a miner's wages or the tesserae alone.

It was this sort of thing that made me sick with guilt about my charmed little existence, far from the common folk in a house with enough space for a family of ten, not three.

However, some of the guilt subsided when my mind slipped into the darker aspects of my life… and why I was so willing to risk my life to escape it.

Once I was sure the fence wasn't about to spring back to life, I quickly jumped up and pulled myself onto a low-slung branch of the closer gigantic redwood. I climbed up the tree until I was about fifteen feet off the ground (safely above the fence in case it went live) then leapt to the redwood on the other side of the fence. I retrieved my satchel from a well hidden hollow, a little higher up along the trunk, slinging it around my shoulder and checking its' contents before I started my descent. It was a simple satchel; about the size of a book, metal clasp, dark leather. Inside I kept the things I didn't dare bring inside district 12; a six inch, steel hunting knife I had found stuck in the very tree I was currently sitting in, a perfectly crafted slingshot I had received as a gift from Noah when he was still sweet on me two years ago, stones to use with the slingshot, and a small collection of legal documents, passports, and identification papers, all forged. Each item in the bag was worth my weight in gold, and each item would earn me a bullet in the back of the skull if I were caught with them.

Except the documentation, of course. For that, I'd be taken to the Capitol itself for high treason, tortured, and publicly executed in the slowest manner possible for being an enemy of the state.

Even holding the papers in my hands made my heart beat a little faster, but I forced myself to get a grip; I needed them if I had any hope of escaping this life, and I knew deep down that the risk was worth the glimmer of freedom I could see just beyond the horizon.

I strapped the knife to my belt and jumped down the tree branch to branch, carelessly picking my way down. Seven feet off the ground, I lowered myself down off the branch, dropping to the ground with the same feline grace I had demonstrated moments before. I stood up quickly, proud of my acrobatic skill, and turned on my heels to face the sprawling woods before me.

I immediately let out a shriek of surprise and fell backwards when I unexpectedly found myself less than six inches away from the face of another human being.

"_Fuck_!" I swore as my back hit the ground. My heart hammered in my chest, and I scrambled to my feet, pulling the knife from my belt in one swift motion, but immediately sheathed it when my brain caught up to my eyes.

"Oh my God I'm so sorry!" Rachel stuttered through her hands, which were clamped over her mouth in fear and shock. I no longer had a weapon, but my body screamed with adrenaline and fear as my animal instincts fought for control. My body was rigid and my fingernails were digging into my palms. I could feel myself slipping back into a moment in my memory, but I fought it off before it came back to me. I exhaled deeply, then inhaled, then exhaled more slowly.

_Calm down. You are not in danger. Quite the opposite. Stay here, Quinn. Stay. Get a grip. Get a grip. Breathe._

"Quinn…" she approached me slowly and deliberately, like one approaches a wild animal. Our eyes locked and I felt the adrenaline begin to drain from my veins. "Quinn… it's alright. Come back to me," she took my hand in hers, never breaking eye contact, and slowly reached up to brush a stray lock of blonde hair from my eyes. As she did, she very gently traced my jaw with her fingertips, down to my collar bone, then trailed her fingers down my right arm with the same calming touch. "Quinn… come back to me."

_Breathe, Quinn, breathe. You're here. Tell her._

"I-I'm here," I said softly, feeling the tension leave my body. "I'm h-here… Rachel." Her brown eyes searched my face for a few moments longer, but it only took a moment for a small yet warm smile to break across her face much like the morning sun pierces through the fog.

"I didn't mean to startle you. I guess I'm a lot better at moving around quietly than I thought I was," her usual cheerful demeanor had returned, and it was becoming contagious. My heart rate began to increase again, but for an entirely different reason.

"I'm surprised I didn't startle you first, dropping out of the tree," I said, dusting off the butt of my pants.

"No, you just gave me half a heart attack as I watched you leap across the fence; I was still frozen in terror that you were going to fall."

"What? I've made that jump every single time I've attempted it. You've seen me do it hundreds of times," I said dismissively, motioning for her to follow me farther into the redwoods.

"That doesn't mean I'm not scared to death that you'll fall!" Rachel replied, exasperated by my characteristic lack of regard for my physical safety. I smirked, taking her hand as we made our way down the steep, rocky hill that lead to the lake.

"Hush, you worry too much. Careful now," I guided her down the hill, holding her hand tightly as we picked our way down the loose dirt and rocks. "You'd be sliding down this hill on your butt if I wasn't here to hold you up, clearly I'm the one who should be the worry wart."

"You know very well that I can walk down this hill by myself," she turned her nose up at me, pretending to be smug. "I just know you like to feel like a gentleman."

"No, it's because you want an excuse to hold my hand. And you're clumsier than a bull in a china shop," I teased, but immediately ate my words as my foot slipped and I had to drop to a knee to stop myself from dragging Rachel with me down the last ten feet of the hill and into the ice cold lake. She burst out laughing and almost fell down the hill herself; I slid to the bottom and caught her by the hand and the waist as she jumped the last few feet. She was, indeed, slightly clumsy; she stumbled a bit on the landing and fell into me. Fortunately I was still bracing myself from sliding on the hill, and I easily caught her, arms wrapped tightly around her waist as she snaked her arms around my neck.

"My hero," she laughed. "is a jerk."

"I guess that makes you a princess, then?" I said. She could have been, anyway. She looked beautiful even in her simple attire. She wore dark jeans, a long sleeved top, and a pair of well-worn, leather boots. She had a wine-colored scarf wrapped around her neck, a matching hat, and matching gloves. Her long, brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her face beautifully. It took me a little by surprise, even after all this time, how truly beautiful I thought she was. It made me feel like a slack jawed idiot sometimes, because I'd catch myself just staring at her with my mouth slightly agape. I suddenly realized I was doing precisely that when she started smirking in that particular way that she smirked when she caught me staring. I wrinkled my nose at her and adjusted her hat a bit so it sat a little farther back on her head. "I like the hat. It suits you."

"That's your way of saying you think it's tacky," she pouted a little, and I shook my head.

"No! No. Well. Yes, maybe a little, but it's cute on you-no! Come back!" I pleaded when she wriggled her way out of my grasp, trying her hardest to pretend to be mad at me. She stomped off towards the other side of the lake and I followed, over dramatically begging for forgiveness the entire way. By the time I caught up with her she was sitting on our rock with her knees drawn to her chest, watching the sun break through the clouds and illuminate the lake in a warm, brilliant glow. I sat beside her, mimicking her posture, and I stared out into the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen.

I smiled ear to ear, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face and the warmth inside my chest. I was afraid to lose myself completely in it, though deep down I knew this moment was the happiest I had ever been. I had hoped that today's sunrise would shimmer across the lake and light up the world the way Rachel lighted up mine. A thousand thoughts were swarming in the back of my mind, but they were all being ignored… for now. For now, there was this. There was her. This was perfect.

"Your eyes look gold," she said suddenly, and I blinked out of my euphoric haze. "In the sunlight. It catches the gold flecks…" she trailed off, looking back at the sunrise.

"Quinn," she spoke again after a few moments, gently leaning her head against my shoulder. There was a slight tremble in her voice. "…are we really going through with this?"

"We'll chase the sunrise until we catch it," I said softly, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "And we'll never have to look back."

"You promise?" she intertwined her fingers in mine, falling into my embrace.

"I promise on all the stars in the sky," I whispered.

"We just have to get through today," she breathed, clinging to me tighter.

"Shh. We have all the time in the world to worry about that. But this sunrise is all I want to think about right now."

"Is that all…?" she asked. There was a moment of silence as she bit her lip, her eyes searching my face for an indication that I was getting what she was hinting at.

I placed a finger under her chin, lifting her face to mine, and placed a sweet, chaste kiss on her lips. As I pulled away her eyes were still closed, but a smile was playing across her lips. She placed a hand on my cheek and pulled me back for a longer kiss, and I happily obliged. We continued this for a few minutes more; soft, tender kisses; the type of kiss that means more than words could possibly express. It was hope, fear, happiness… life, the universe, everything.

When she pulled away she placed one last kiss on my cheek before tucking her head into my shoulder, and our fingers once again intertwined. There was a broad grin across my face as I basked in the sun's rays, wanting to remember every detail and every second of this perfect morning. It was remarkably like the morning on which we kissed for the first time; it was here, on this very rock, almost a year ago. I remember the exact moment I realized that I was in love with her… and the months I longed to know how it felt to kiss her lips. It felt so perfect to me, but I was too afraid to tell her; I didn't want to lose our friendship. I loved her too much, and though it was slow torture to keep my feelings hidden, it was better than losing my best friend. Imagine my surprise when one afternoon she just leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I sat for a moment in stunned bliss, unsure what to do next. I decided to simply return the favor, but when I went to kiss her on the cheek, she caught my lips with hers like we had done it a thousand times before. It was so easy, and nothing had ever felt that right before.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"The first time we kissed," I replied. "And you?"

"Fireflies," Rachel answered, and she began humming softly to herself. It was a song I had heard a million times before, but I loved it just a little bit more each time she would sing it. What made me love it the most was the first time I had heard it. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of the morning and Rachel's perfume, losing myself in the memory of the song she had now begun to sing.

_Some day, when I'm awfully low, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight…_

It was two years ago, when I was still somewhat afraid to venture past the fence alone. Up until that point, I had never ventured farther than the fence without Noah Puckerman at my side. It was three years ago that I began sneaking out of the district with him in the first place: he would go to hunt, I would go to escape my father. I had originally found out about his hunting trips because I caught him hiding in the grove at the edge of my father's property where I now hide my casual clothing. It was early in the morning, before school; I was walking past the fence when I noticed that one of the boards had been moved to the side. I crept around the edge of the grove and caught him red-handed with three large pheasants strapped to his belt. He begged me not to rat him out to the Enforcers, and I said I wouldn't, but only if he agreed to take me over the fence with him. I had walked up to it before, desperately wanting to see what was on the other side, but I was never brave enough to cross it. At first he said no, but upon reevaluating his predicament, he had no choice but to yield to my request. He reluctantly agreed under the condition that I never go without him to protect me. At first I thought he was being unnecessarily cautious, but it only took one close call with a mountain lion to permanently glue me to his side whenever we were adventuring through the woods. To this day, he still teases me incessantly about how quickly my attitude changed towards being close to him. He says it's because he's irresistible to women, though he knows I would never be the least bit interested in him.

Once a week, for an entire year, we would make the jump between the two redwoods, venture to the lake, and spend several hours fishing, trapping, and hunting small game. At first, I was more of a hinderance than an assistant, but after a few months I was just as proficient as Noah at catching things in various ways. After the first year, he gave me the slingshot as a gift. It seemed like nothing more than a child's toy to the casual observer, but it was lethally effective against small game. It wasn't long before I could shoot with enough accuracy to knock a bird out of the sky at a reasonable distance. It wasn't nearly as useful as a bow, but Noah didn't have the means to make one that was powerful enough to make it worth carrying around with us, so we stuck to the slingshots and various types of knives, which were easy to conceal or ditch if we were ever caught. Fortunately, we never had any trouble from anything other than the occasional bobcat or coyote stealing from our traps. Noah ensured that we were always safe and hidden; he was clever, careful, and surprisingly intelligent. In school, he showed the emotional and intellectual depth of a teaspoon, but with me, he was an entirely different person and definitely a friend worth having.

On one particular day, about a year since my first adventure over the fence, I sat in the redwood on the district 12 side, trying to convince myself that I was brave enough to jump across alone. My hands were shaking, and my face was still tear stained from the screaming match I had engaged in over dinner with my father. I knew I shouldn't have sparked the fight, but I just couldn't stop myself this time. Two cracked plates and a shattered brandy glass later, I was running as fast as I could towards the fence, lungs bursting and blood boiling with anger and resentment. I knew Noah wouldn't be able to leave the house now; his mother would need him to help prepare dinner and wrangle his excitable herd of younger siblings. I also had no intentions of explaining my personal problems to him, because he had enough things to worry about. Also, my makeup was surely running down my face, and my sleeves were wet with tears and snot. If nothing else, my pride was not going to allow me to let anyone see me fall to pieces. No one else was allowed to see me break.

The air around me was beginning to cool down, and the sun was slowly drifting towards the horizon. If I was going to go across the fence, I would have to do it now. I stood up, braced myself against the tree, and leapt across the gap before I could change my mind. I crashed against the tree trunk, having severely overestimated how far I would have to leap, and I hugged the tree like a frightened squirrel to stop myself from falling backwards. As I slowly made my way down the branches, I had to wrap my hands into my sleeves to protect them from the rough bark. Unfortunately, this also effected my grip, and when I tried to lower myself to the ground, my hands slipped and I fell the last six feet onto my tailbone.

Thoroughly humiliated, covered in dust and pine needles, and still teary eyed, I slowly stood up to brush myself off as best I could. My pants were alright, but my shirt sleeves were ruined; when I rolled them up, streaks of blood were left across my hands and forearms from the two dozen scratches and scrapes I had acquired between slamming into the tree trunk and falling off the last branch. Unsure of what to do next, or how I was going to climb back over the fence with bloodied, stinging hands, I trudged along the wooded section of the fence westward towards the sunset.

I walked for what seemed like days locked inside my head. I knew a scream was building in my chest, but I didn't dare let it out. It clawed at my insides, whispering terrible things in the back of my mind, repeating my father's drunken and hurtful words over and over again. I tried to stop the hurt, or shut myself down completely so I couldn't feel anything at all, but I just couldn't bring up the mask I usually wear. The feeling of powerlessness was so overwhelming it made my chest ache. What I wanted more than anything was for the world to stop and wait for me to get a grip before I returned to it. Or, alternatively, I could find a world of my own. Perhaps I'd stumble into some magical grove of trees that would take me to the sorts of places you read about in fairy tales from days long forgotten. Maybe some manner of magical creature would come and help me feel better, at least for a little while.

It was this thought that made me pause, because I suddenly picked up the faint sound of someone singing in the distance. It was coming from the field ahead. For a moment I entertained the idea that it actually was some sort of mythical creature, but I dismissed the thought as I made my way carefully and quietly towards the sound. The closer I got, the more sweet and feminine the voice sounded; a part of me was screaming to run in the other direction as fast as I could. What are the odds that there's a woman singing in the forbidden woods? It's probably a trap! My brain tried to reason with me, but I was so distraught and worn down that I was ready to welcome death if it were at the hands of the beautiful voice that seemed to be coming from just over the hill.

The second my head popped up over the edge of it, I gasped in surprise.

Not only was it actually a girl singing, but it was a girl that I knew. It was Rachel Berry.

I immediately dropped to the ground in the prone position, unsure whether or not to approach her. We were not exactly friends; she was shy and quiet around me, to a degree that was almost irritating. I chastised myself for thinking like that; I hadn't exactly made an effort to get to know her. To be fair, though, I hadn't made an effort to get to know almost everyone. At school I wasn't myself, just like at home. I was pretty, perfect, and cold as porcelain. I responded to most of the world with unwavering indifference. What few friends I did have hadn't even scratched the surface of my true self.

In a moment of self realization that could only be described as devastating, I realized that there wasn't a single person in this world who knew anything about me other than what I wanted them to see. My best friend, Santana, had never set foot in my house. Noah, despite our many heartfelt and insightful conversations, probably couldn't describe me any better as a person than Rachel could. I held my breath as I started to break apart even more than I already had, in a last ditch effort to keep my composure.

"I know you're there, Quinn Fabray."

My blood froze in my veins. I slowly lifted my head over the edge of the hill. Rachel was standing about five feet away from me, hands planted defiantly on her hips. For several moments I didn't move, because I was unsure how to handle this situation. Ten years of etiquette classes did nothing to provide me with a way out of this increasingly mortifying and awkward moment.

"If you're thinking of telling the Enforcers about me being here, I'll have you know that we are too far from the fence for you to have seen me unless you were also on the wrong side of the fence, and that you would be in just as much trouble as me. There's no point in participating in mutual destruction, so you will find it in your best interest to acquiesce to my request," she spoke authoritatively, despite her less than intimidating appearance. I blinked at her in surprise, still unsure whether I was more puzzled by her presence here, or by what she had just said to me. "Are you deaf, Fabray? I said-"

"I-I-I heard you. I'm s-sorry," I started to stutter, so I took a deep breath before continuing. "I just… I don't think I've ever heard you say more than three words at a time to me."

"I think the situation calls for it," Rachel tilted her head upwards slightly. "I'd prefer if you were standing, though. I don't like talking down to people. Also, I'm sure that grass is wet and cold."

"Um, yeah…" I mumbled, gingerly pushing myself up with my still stinging and bloodied hands. Rachel watched me intently, but nothing about her expression gave me any indication of what she was thinking. Since staring at her wasn't going to help me decipher her motives, and I was more embarrassed than I ever had been in my life due to my disheveled appearance, I kept my eyes cast downward as I walked up to her. "I… um… I won't tell anyone I saw you here. You have my word. Just please don't tell anyone I look… well, that you saw me like this…" I jumped a little when she grabbed my left hand, examining it carefully. She motioned for me to give her my other hand and I complied, having decided to just go with it for now.

"They're shallow scrapes… they're going to sting for a day or two, but as long as you keep them clean they should heal quickly," she leaned towards me, angling her head so she could meet my downcast eyes. She was a good deal shorter than me, so she didn't have to lean very far to meet my gaze. Upon getting a good look at my face, her expression softened and changed from determined and stubborn, to deeply concerned. I could only keep her gaze for a few seconds before the tears started to well up in the corners of my eyes. I averted my eyes and blinked quickly in a desperate attempt to stop myself from crying again. "… something terrible happened to you, didn't it?" she said, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. "What horrible thing could make a girl as pretty as you cry so hard?"

I couldn't respond, because I immediately started to sob. Out of shame, I covered my face in my hands, but she immediately pulled them back down, and pulled a piece of cloth from the bag she had slung around her shoulder. She dabbed my eyes with it gently, pulling back after a moment to let me catch my breath.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, sniffling into my sleeve. "We barely even know each other and you have to see this… I'm sorry-"

"Stop it," she said firmly, removing a large flask of water from her bag. She handed it to me and I gratefully took a large gulp of water. "You don't need to apologize for things that aren't your fault."

"What a novel concept," I laughed bitterly. She dipped the cloth into the flask, took my left hand, and gently started to clean the scrapes. I winced a little, but she was careful, and the cool water eased the sting. When she finished cleaning up my left hand and arm, she started on the right, then cleaned the tear streaks from my face. I felt oddly at ease with her actions, for reasons I couldn't quite understand. I don't like to be touched by anyone; I go rigid whenever someone hugs me, and I once socked Noah in the jaw on accident when he grabbed me from behind. For some reason, though, I didn't mind Rachel's touch.

"That's better," she said cheerfully, tucking the flask and the cloth back into her bag. "Now, you're right; we don't know each other. But my dad always says that the best things can come from nowhere. So maybe this is one of those things, and we don't have to stay strangers and spend the rest of the school year awkwardly avoiding eye contact with each other because of this."

"I… I think I'd be alright with that," I said, as a smile began to form on my face. It was the first genuine smile I had given someone in a long, long time.

"Alright, Quinn Fabray, will you tell me what happened to you?" she asked. I shook my head.

"No, I won't. Not now, at least… I… I can't talk about it now. Ask me anything else though."

"What's your favorite color?"

"Really?" I laughed, snorting a bit. "Uh, okay. Green. Do I get to ask you questions too?"

"Sure. I am an open book. Ask away."

"How come you never talk to me at school?"

"You terrify me," she stated simply. I was taken aback by her answer.

"Why do I terrify you?"

"I'm not sure if I want to tell you just yet," Rachel smiled. "Because I need to get to know you better before I know the answer."

"Um, okay. How do you get through the fence?"

"Simple. There's a section about ten minutes west of here, at the western edge of the Seam, that can be pulled up to make a whole big enough for someone twice my size to climb under."

"Ah. I didn't think you'd be tree jumping across the fence, like me…"

"Seems like I'm the smart one, then. Is that how you scraped up your hands and arms?"

"Yeah. So, I guess we're partners in crime now," I laughed, and she shrugged her shoulders.

"I guess that means we'd better get to know each other better."

We went back and forth like that for what seemed like hours, laughing and joking as if we had known each other our whole lives. For the first time in my life, I had found someone who was easy to talk to, and someone who made me feel safe. It wasn't until the crickets started chirping that I realized we had been talking for at least an hour, and the sun was just barely clinging to the edge of the horizon. I suggested to Rachel that we should start walking back, but she shook her head, grinning playfully.

"Not yet. There's something I want to show you. I bet you want to know what on earth I'm doing out here by myself, right?" I nodded. "Just stay a bit longer and I'll show you. But you have to promise to keep it a secret."

"I suppose friends should have secrets that only they share," I said. Rachel paused for a moment, and I thought she might be blushing, though it was quickly getting dark and it was difficult to tell.

"So we're friends now?" she asked tentatively, chewing a little at her lower lip. I watched her curiously; there was something undeniably adorable about her, if not a little dorky.

"Yeah," I said, suddenly feeling slightly self conscious. Why did I feel nervous? "Can I ask you something?" She nodded. "I think… I think you have a beautiful voice. Why don't you ever sing at school?"

"I don't like to stand out. And I always felt like singing was something just for me, or for someone special. It's hard to explain," she paused, searching for the words she wanted to say. "Perhaps sometime I'll tell you the whole story, when you tell me who I have to beat up for making you cry."

"That's fair," I said, glancing over at the horizon; the sun had now dropped below the mountain range, and twilight had descended on the field. For a brief moment I worried that I would be missed, and that my father already had Enforcers tearing apart the town in search of me. But then Rachel took my hand in hers, and I forgot all about anything but her. She pulled me farther into the field, and sat on a padded down section of grass. I sat beside her, unsure why we were still sitting in the middle of a rapidly darkening field.

"What are we waiting for-"

"Shhh! Just watch," Rachel hissed and pointed into the field in front of her. I squinted through what was left of the daylight, seeing nothing but shadows. I sighed, picking at the grass beneath my knees.

"Rachel, it's getting really dark. I don't know what…" I trailed off when I spotted it. About ten feet in front of us, a very faint glow was illuminating the grass. It was soft like candlelight, and at first I thought it was all coming from the same source, but the lights began to pop up in other parts of the field. As they moved closer to us, I suddenly realized what I was looking at.

"Fireflies," I breathed, and in a moment we were surrounded by thousands of them, lazily floating about the field. I gasped in delight, immediately blushing at my childish reaction.

"Don't be embarrassed," Rachel laughed. "They're magical, aren't they?" I nodded and cupped one in my hands, holding it closer to my face so I could get a better look at it. It was so bright, it was like holding the sun in my hands. I grinned from ear to ear, and I turned to face Rachel.

"I don't know how to thank you," I said a little breathlessly. "I never thought… I just wouldn't think you and I would be friends. Or that a day that had gone so wrong could go so right. Or that… um…" I was suddenly intensely aware that she was staring at me. I felt like she could see right through me like glass, though I knew she was still just barely breaking my surface.

"How about you promise me that you'll still be my friend tomorrow? I don't want to come to school and say hello to you, just to have you pretend that you don't even know I exist," she was still smiling but there was a hint of nervousness and fear in her voice. It occurred to me at that moment that Rachel had probably wanted to get to know me sooner, but she just never had an opportunity to do so. I knew that my icy cold exterior probably didn't help matters much, either. But somehow, by fantastic coincidence or fate, we had stumbled across each other at the right time, and though this was new territory for me, I was looking forward to having another human being I could be myself with and confide in. For the first time, I had a friend. A real one.

"I can do that… if you'll sing for me," I bit my lip while waiting for her answer. I didn't know why, but I didn't just want to hear her sing… I needed to hear her sing. There was something about this moment that was meant to be special, I was sure of it, and I wanted to have just one more piece of it to carry in my heart. She smiled and clasped her hand around mine; why was my heart beating so quickly?

"What would you like me to sing?"

"Something… something happy."

_Some day, when I'm awfully low, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight._

_ Yes you're lovely, with your smile so warm and your cheeks so soft. There is nothing for me but to love you, and the way you look tonight._

_ With each word your tenderness grows, tearing my fear apart, and that laugh that wrinkles your nose… it touches my foolish heart._

_ Lovely, never, ever change, keep that breathless charm. Won't you please arrange it? Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight._

"Mm, mm, mm, mm, the way you look tonight," I sang the last line as I let the memory fade, placing one last kiss on her cheek. The sun was now climbing higher in the sky; it was almost time for us to head back home. We sat in silence for a while, soaking up our last few minutes away from the world. "Rachel… how long did you have a crush on me?"

"You mean when I first fell for you, or when I realized it was a crush? The first time I saw you I thought you were beautiful. You were so pretty I was scared to death to talk to you. Every time we spoke, I'd get all flustered and tongue tied."

"I just assumed you thought I was a bitch."

"You kinda were, back then. Okay, that's not really fair. You were just… cold. And guarded. I wanted to know you, but I didn't know where to begin. Eventually, I realized I liked you… and that just made me act even more awkward when you were around. But the night in the field, my fear of being caught totally destroyed my ability to be shy around you, and that's why I walked up to you instead of making a run for it. I didn't know if you were going to tell on me… you know, being the mayor's daughter and all. But once I saw how broken and hurt you were, I knew you meant no harm. I just got the feeling that you desperately needed someone to pick up a few of your pieces so you could put yourself back together. For some reason, I knew it wasn't an accident that I was the person you came across that night. And… you know the rest. I agonized over it for a year as we became closer and closer friends, and as I watched you start to shine, I felt myself falling in love with you. The real you. But I knew that what you needed was a friend, and as long as you were happy, I was happy."

"It's kind of funny that we could have saved ourselves a few months of dancing around the issue with longing stares and subtle hints if either of us had just come clean."

"Tell me, Quinn; would you really want it to have happened any other way than the way it did? If I had told you too soon, you might have pulled away from me. I didn't want you to feel like it was anyone's decision but your own. I waited until I was almost sure…"

"How did you know?"

"I didn't, actually. Not for sure. It just… felt right."

"Your timing is impeccable."

"Well, I had some pretty good hints. Like, the fact that Santana had started asking me if you were into me. Oh, and Noah made a few of his trademark crude comments about how you always seemed to be staring at my-"

"Wait, what?! I did not stare!"

"You so did."

"… okay maybe a little. Did Santana really ask you that?"

"Yes. Of course this is Santana we're talking about, so she weaved in a few overprotective threats in between short jokes. She said if I broke your heart, she would break my legs. When I insisted that I didn't know for sure if you liked me, she said that being oblivious must be genetically linked to being a homunculus."

"Glad to see she's expanding her insult vocabulary… I'm sorry you had to be subjected to that."

"Nothing in this world worth having comes easily. And you are the most wonderful thing I could have."

"I don't deserve you," I said, placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Don't say that. You deserve good things, Quinn, and I hope I can be one of them," she kissed the back of my hand before untangling herself from my embrace.

"We have to hurry, or we're going to be late for the Reaping," she said, and I sighed. She was right. I stood up and we headed towards home, still holding hands. Despite our cheerful demeanor, I could see that unease was beginning to settle into the pit of Rachel's stomach. Her eyes were locked on the path ahead, brow slightly furrowed in deep thought. I tried to maintain a sunny disposition, but it was becoming more difficult as we got closer and closer to the fence. A tense silence had settled in between us, and I searched for something to say to break it, but I couldn't find any words that seemed to fit. Finally, Rachel stopped, planting her feet firmly on the ground. Her eyes met mine, and I silently pleaded with her to not ask the question I knew she was holding on the tip of her tongue.

"What happens if we get picked, Quinn?" she asked.

For a moment I let her words hang in the air, as if they would float away if I refused to respond, but I knew there was no ignoring it now. It had been said, and I had to answer her.

"We won't," I said firmly, though I had no way of knowing for sure. All I knew was that Rachel and I had the best possible odds for our ages; neither of us have ever taken the tesserae, and this was our last year of eligibility. I took some relief in the fact that in a district as hungry as district 12, we were likely only two of maybe a dozen tributes who didn't have more than ten entries in the lottery. However, any relief I felt was immediately eclipsed by gut wrenching guilt over the fact that many of our friends, like Santana and Noah, had the most entries possible from taking the tesserae every single year to help feed their families.

"Quinn, look at me," Rachel demanded. "We have a plan. We have our papers. We have a map, and we have a destination. We have discussed every tiny detail of what's going to happen the second the Reaping is over… except what happens if one of us isn't coming back home tonight." Her voice was shaking, but she stood firm, staring me down until I looked her in the eye.

"What do you want me to say, Rachel? What can I say? And I'm not being rhetorical. I honestly want to know what I could possibly say that could make you feel safe, because I will say it," I searched her eyes for an answer as I took her hands in mine, lifting her chin with a single finger when she tried to look at the ground. "If I could remove our names from the Reaping- no, if I could end the Hunger Games once and for all, I would do it. Hell, if I could bring down the sky and give you the stars like fireflies in a jar, I would do it, Rachel. I would do anything to make you feel safe, and I will tell you anything you need to hear to make everything alright, so please… tell me what you need me to say."

Tears were beginning to build up in the corners of my eyes, and when a single tear rolled down her cheek, I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from losing it completely.

"I'm scared…" Rachel whispered.

"I'll be brave for you," my voice was shaking from the effort to stop myself from crying. Rachel shook her head.

"Oh stop it, I know you're scared too. The only thing you're really afraid of is not having control, and this is the one thing you can't control," she slipped her arms around my waist, and stood up on her toes so she could whisper in my ear. I blinked out two silent tears, gripping her back as tightly as I could without hurting her. "I'm sorry I even brought it up… it just popped out. I know we said we wouldn't talk about it, and I apologize. But please believe me when I say that I don't want you to bring down the sky, Quinn. I just need you to tell me you love me… and that will always be enough."

"I do love you, Rachel."

"And I love you, too," she kissed me tenderly, wiping away my tears with her thumbs. "There's the gap in the fence up ahead… if I don't hurry, we're going to be late."

"I know," I stole one more kiss before lifting the fence, after confirming that it was still dead and silent. "Hurry home, I'll see you at the Reaping."

"May the odds ever be in your favor," she murmured.

"And in yours," I replied, giving her one last smile. I watched her dash off towards home, and I followed the fence back to my trees, stopping only to stash my bag and make sure that it was perfectly hidden from view. As I headed home, I began to sing softly, to calm my growing fears.

_ Lovely, never, ever change, keep that breathless charm. Won't you please arrange it? Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight._

"It's alright, Quinn," I whispered to myself. "You're here, and she'll be there. There's nothing to fear. The odds are indeed in our favor, and you are going to love the way she looks tonight."

_ Mm, mm, mm, mm, the way you look tonight._

**Author's notes:** Glee and the Hunger Games are property of their respective producers and creators. The song in this chapter is The Way You Look Tonight, sung by Fred Astaire and written by Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields. This work has it's own blog, which will feature both the story itself and illustrations, and it can be found on Tumblr under the username quinnthelionheartedgirl. I will try to update at least once weekly. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2: If God Is in the Rain

My heels clicked rhythmically on the cobblestone path that snaked its' way from my house to the market district. After a quick costume change back into my dress and heels, I made my way down the road towards town, smoothing out the kink in my hair from the ponytail with my fingers. I walked with my chin held high and my back straight, a posture that had been firmly engrained in me since I was old enough to walk on my own. I smiled bitterly to myself, remembering the etiquette lessons that had been drilled into my head by my mother: _chin up, back straight, arms at your sides, eyes forward. Don't smile too broadly, dear, it makes you look like you're up to something. Stride gracefully forward; walk with confidence, but not with pride. A lady is humble, Quinn. She exudes elegance and serenity. Smile with your teeth, not your eyes. You don't want your suitors to think you're too bold. Don't speak unless you are spoken to. Follow his lead. Be obedient. No man is going to marry a girl who lacks femininity, after all._

"Maybe no man, but perhaps a girl," I laughed at myself, quickening my pace. Soon, it wouldn't matter how attractive I was to my father's menagerie of his business partner's sons. In less than a day, Rachel and I would be miles away from district 12 and on our way to the Capitol to begin a new life of our own. My thoughts drifted to the paperwork I had stashed in my satchel just across the district 12 fence, and my inner perfectionist forced me to, once again, fret over the details. I had two passports, one for each of us, enabling us to travel on the train into the Capitol. The Forger had assured us that only our last names would need to be changed, and I trusted his judgement.

The Forger, oddly enough, was someone I knew very well; he was my father's accountant, a man by the name of William Shuester. When I was young, he would bring me a piece of candy every time he visited, listening intently as I babbled about my school lessons and commenting on how tall I was getting or how pretty I was. He was a genuinely sweet man; I remember wishing that he was my father, rather than the cold hearted man who had raised me. I had always gotten the impression that he had wanted a family of his own, but his job was far too demanding to allow it, so he made due by tutoring school children in his spare time in math, or by spoiling his client's children rotten with gifts and attention.

It was by complete accident that I had discovered the power that he had through documentation. About six months ago, he had stopped by our house late in the evening with a briefcase full of paperwork for my father to sign. In his annoyance with my father's belligerent drunkenness, he had dramatically thrown the pile of paperwork up in the air in the study whilst storming out for a smoke. I had been secretly watching the encounter from the stairwell, and I had to stifle a laugh when William stormed out of the room with a whirlwind of papers still fluttering in the air around him. In his haste to retrieve his pipe from his breast pocket, he had accidentally dropped a small paper packet in the main hall on his way out the front door. I snatched up out of curiosity before my father noticed it, being careful to remain out of sight to avoid my father's drunken tirade. Inside the packet I found several passports, one of which I recognized; it was for a merchant who worked in the market district. It took me a moment to put two and two together, but when I did, I was struck with a rush of adrenaline; William was a Forger. A Forger was a person who would create or edit documentation for anyone who could pay the proper price; they were experts on Capitol law, and though their line of work was incredibly dangerous, the best Forgers were never caught because they so masterfully covered their own tracks.

It was in that moment that, for the first time in my life, a glimmer of hope for my future had sprung to life in my chest.

I followed William outside and confronted him with the packet, demanding to know why he was walking about with forged documents on his person. I expected him to deny any wrongdoing but, to my surprise, he simply sighed and gestured for me to lower my voice and close the front door. He confessed that his position as an accountant and an official of the law allowed him to slip through certain loopholes, and for the right price, he could make people disappear from one place and reappear in another. Just like Noah had begged me to not rat him out to the Enforcers when I caught him hunting wild game, William requested that I keep his secret.

I'm not entirely sure if it was my shrewd ability to negotiate, William's fondness for me, or William's exhaustion from dealing with my father, but I was able to strike a deal with him that night. In exchange for my silence about his illegal business, he would provide me with the means to escape the life my father had planned for me. Had he not witnessed my father's descent into alcoholism firsthand, and had he not developed a father-like fondness for me over the many years we had been acquainted, I'm sure he would have refused my request. Fortunately, I am a powerful negotiator, and William sympathized with my need to disappear from the world I had grown up in. Despite the risk of engaging in such a deal with the mayor's daughter, and the likelihood that his word would easily overpower mine if the authorities got involved, he agreed to help me.

I remember that night almost perfectly, when William and I discussed the exact type of paperwork that I would need to leave district 12. He seemed puzzled as to why I insisted on a set of paperwork for Rachel as well, but had fortunately decided to not question my request. He explained each piece of documentation that I would need, and how to use it, in great detail. When I asked him how he could be sure that it would work, he laughed and joked that if he could conceal the money my father spent on alcohol from his tax forms and expense reports, he could make anything disappear.

At the end of it all, William had provided me with the passports and the documentation to secure safe passage for Rachel and I into the Capitol. I had paperwork that legitimized our relocation, stating that we were on academic scholarship for musical studies. It granted us citizenship in the Capitol, provided that we work to create musical pieces that 'illustrated the accomplishments and triumphs of the Capitol's glorious history from past to present.' While the idea of producing propaganda for a living made Rachel and I uneasy, the promise of a life where we wouldn't have to hide in the shadows was more than enough of a reward for the price of becoming one of the Capitol's artistic puppets. For me it was a choice between being at the mercy of my terrifying father until I was auctioned off as a trophy wife to the highest bidder, and the freedom to live my own life with the girl that I love. For her it was the choice between living one bad economic year from starvation, and being free to properly display the unique talent that she had been blessed with. For both of us, it was the chance to be with the person we loved, instead of sneaking around behind our suitors' backs. Though we would both be leaving our entire lives behind, it wasn't necessarily a difficult decision to make; better to lie about what you do than who you love.

The final set of documents I had were a series of complicated mandates that allowed us to travel without being tracked; William painstakingly explained to me each of the conditions within the paperwork that would prevent anyone from being able to track us once we set foot off the train into the Capitol station, ensuring our safety from my father and legal prosecution. It was the most important set of paperwork, but also the most dangerous to possess; it was the sort of paperwork that ensures that your previous life will cease to exist. We would become entirely new people once we reached our destination; just a pair of young, bright, talented students who came from a little middle-class neighborhood in the Capitol. The catch was that the documentation could only be presented within the Capitol, because it was the sort of paperwork that only citizens of the Capitol could possess. While it confirmed our identities within the Capitol's walls, being caught with it in any surrounding district would be evidence of fraud. It was proof of citizenship, but the trip was a one way ticket. Once we entered our new life, there was no going back without applying for travel visas, which no one from the Capitol save for traders and Enforcers would ever need.

The mere thought of never having to see my father again filled me with an overwhelming feeling of thankfulness and relief, but there was a shadow of sadness that lingered in the back of my mind. Our freedom meant that we would never be able to return to district 12, which meant that I could never see Santana or Noah again. In a moment of guilt-driven weakness, I had confessed my plan to them, asking them if they would join us. Noah staunchly refused to leave his mother and his younger siblings behind; though a new life in the Capitol would free him from a lifetime of back-breaking work as a miner, it would also doom his family to starvation. Santana also refused, unwilling to abandon her position as the Seam's healer; she would take over the family apothecary once her grandmother could no longer work, and the people of the Seam relied on her family for everything from simple colds and allergies to severe burns and shattered bones.

"This is your adventure, kid, not mine: go and be happy, because you fucking deserve it," Noah had said to me, giving me a reassuring hug.

"Don't worry about us, and definitely don't worry about me. I look forward to taking over for you, queen bee. It means I don't have to take you down in the process," Santana joked, linking her pinky finger in mine. "You and the little one were meant for so much more. Go get it."

They promised to keep the secret, and to ensure that Rachel and I had safe passage to the train station. They also promised to help ensure that no one picked up our trail until it was too late to catch us. But no matter how much they insisted that they were happy for me, I could never completely swallow my guilt for having the opportunity to escape the nightmarish life of district 12 that they would never have.

I remembered the first time I told Rachel about my plan; we were huddled under the rock near the lake in front of a small campfire, hiding from the rainstorm that had swept in unexpectedly. She listened intently as I explained each piece of paperwork, wearing an expression that seemed to split the difference between hope and fear. She remained silent for a long while after I had finished my explanation, and when she did speak, she did so with tears in her eyes.

"My only…. my only problem is that I can't say goodbye… to my dad…" she choked out her words in an effort to stop herself from breaking down completely. "… but I would rather make peace with disappearing into the night than live the life we have laid before us now."

"You can say goodbye to your dad… I'm sure he'd keep our secret," I tried to reassure her, but she firmly shook her head.

"This is our path. This is our choice. And if it doesn't work out, or if we get caught, I want it to be our responsibility. No one else's. No one else will know, other than the four of us. Hell, if I had a way to make Santana and Noah forget, I would, just so I could know for sure that they were safe. And though it hurts like hell… I know that if I could tell dad… he would want me to go. He never wanted this life for me… just surviving, not living…" as she trailed off she looked out into the rainstorm. The rain was falling in thick sheets, making it impossible to see farther than ten feet in front of our faces. She reached an open palm into the downpour, catching the drops in her hand. "My dad used to tell me that his grandmother used to collect a small jar of raindrops during every rainstorm. When he asked her why, she told him 'God is in the rain.' I asked him what it meant, and he said he didn't know, but he thought it was important somehow."

"If there is a God, why would he be in the rain?" I asked, holding my hand in the downpour to catch some raindrops in my own palm.

"Who knows? Maybe he weeps for humanity, for all the terrible things people do to each other. Maybe he speaks through the thunder, but we're too far away to understand. Maybe that's why the forest grows… I don't think anyone will ever know. I think that's the point though, that we don't know," Rachel pulled her hand back, examining the droplets of water on her fingers. "but if it's true… it's wonderful to know he's here with us now. And though the downpour is keeping us here longer than we expected… maybe that's the point. It's a sign from on high; that this is what we're meant to do. To be together."

"If God is in the rain, then let it pour down on me," I whispered as I leaned my head back into the storm, letting the rain soak my hair and wash away any doubt left in my heart.

My pace slowed a bit as I entered town, since the streets were so crowded. I made my way through the teeming masses, heading for the main square where all potential tributes gathered during the Reaping ceremony. We would be herded into the center of the square, sorted by age; oldest at the front, youngest at the back. Dividers had been set up between the edges of the square and the gathering area, separating the spectators from the potential tributes. Every single citizen was required to attend the Reaping ceremonies; you could only be excused from doing so if you were on death's door. Back in the Seam, the Enforcers were going door-to-door to ensure that no one was trying to avoid their civic duty. The square wasn't nearly big enough to hold all the tributes and the crowd, so the spectators were overflowing into the surrounding alleyways, buildings, and roofs. Screens and speakers had been set up to ensure that no one missed a single second of the entire ceremony.

In some districts, the Reaping is a time of celebration and competition; career tributes train their whole lives to compete in the games, and there are some districts with legacy families; that is, a family in which there are several winners. They make it seem like an honor to represent their district, but in the poorer districts the games are viewed for what they are; a barbaric punishment for something that happened so long ago, almost no one was old enough to actually remember any of it. While no one said it out loud, it was more or less universally accepted that the games punished the poorer districts much more than the richer ones. Winning meant funding, gifts, and the sort of support that a poorer district desperately needed, but a lifetime of hard labor is not as effective as one might think for training a child to brutally murder other children. The districts that could afford to train tributes would have the most winners, reaping the rewards that victory brings. The poorer districts were simply destined to continue to be poor, and district 12 was arguably the poorest of all; the odds were so far out of our favor, it was almost a joke that we had to participate at all.

I picked my way through the crowd of onlookers to the gate of the tribute area, but was stopped briefly by a man taking bets on this year's games; I dismissed him with a rude gesture and pushed by him, appalled that someone would try to make a profit off of betting on which tributes would be selected this year. In his hand he held a sheet of paper that had the number of entries listed for each potential tribute, sorted by name. You could bet on individual tributes, families, or by age group. There were other categories as well; what color Effie Trinket's hair would be, whether or not our tributes would make it into the top 16, 8, 4, or 2, and various other events or accomplishments. Gambling was illegal in district 12, but that didn't stop a few particularly callous and greedy individuals from participating.

I shook my head as I walked towards the gathering area. A line had formed at the barrier, and when it was my turn to walk inside, I checked in with the Enforcer who manned the barrier entrance.

"Fabray, Quinn," I said to him. He nodded as he flipped the pages on his clipboard to the 'F' section, then smartly added a little checkmark to his list.

"Good luck, Miss Fabray," he said, ushering me through the gate. I sighed a little to myself, wondering how much luck actually had to do with it.

I remember the first year I was eligible for tribute, my father went up and down every Capitol law book looking for some sort of loophole to make me exempt from the Reaping. His attempts would have come across as heartwarming if he were anyone but my father, who was simply trying to protect his investment. He had grilled William for hours on the subject, and in a moment of exasperation, William calculated the odds of me being selected against any other potential tribute from district 12. Because I never would have to take the tesserae, William assured my father that the odds were, almost unfairly, in my favor against the starving families of the Seam. My father seemed pleased by this, much to William's disgust. He made William explain to me that I shouldn't worry about being selected, which he did very reluctantly.

"It's simple probability, Quinn," William explained to me while going over the numbers. "Basic statistics. You'll learn about it in school soon, but the basic gist of it is that the less times your name is in the bowl, and the more times any other person has their name in the bowl, the more the odds are in your favor."

"But that's not fair," I remember saying.

"Life's not fair, sweetheart," he had told me with a twinge of sadness in his voice, "though I wish it was. But at least it's not fair in your favor."

I weaved my way through the crowded mass of tributes, heading towards the front of the line where the eldest stood. I exchanged small pleasantries with classmates and acquaintances, trying not to let my impatience show. My concentration was broken when a tall, tanned girl donned in vibrant red blocked my path.

"What on earth are you wearing?" Santana cackled. "Does daddy think showing your forearms might work the boys into a frenzy?"

"Hey, Santana, it's Quinn we're talking about here; you gotta be careful with those sexy forearms," Noah interrupted, saving me from the awkward silence that would have followed my lack of a witty comeback. Usually my tongue was like a razor blade dipped in honey, but I was too focused on getting through the afternoon to come up with one of my usual scathing responses. Santana and I had been best friends for years, but the casual observer could be forgiven for assuming that we were mortal enemies. Most of our communication with one another consisted of catty insults and jabs, but that's just how we talked to each other; we didn't mean any of it. It was just nice to have someone I didn't have to be painfully polite to all the time.

"Rumor has it she's even rifling some girl feathers," Noah added with a tacky wink, and I shot him the iciest stare I could manage, which just made him and Santana laugh. After a few moments a smile cracked at the corner of my mouth and I rolled my eyes dramatically at them, giving Noah an unnecessarily rough shove to the chest.

"Hey, isn't it funny how I've rifled more feathers with this cardigan than you've rifled with that chiseled jaw?" I teased.

"Ah! But you admit it is handsomely chiseled," he said proudly, rubbing his hand across his chin. "And ruggedly stubbled. I don't think you could manage that, doll face."

"Ooooh, chin hair. I'm so impressed. That doesn't change the fact that you've still got no hair on your b-"

"All's well then, is it Noah?" Rachel interrupted from behind us, smartly wrapping her arm around my waist. "Such a... masculine jawline you have there. Clearly it's proof enough of your manliness?"

"Clearly," Noah grinned at Rachel, but decided it was probably wise not to continue this line of conversation. I gave Rachel a chaste hug, knowing that there was a chance that my father was watching me. As I pulled away from her, I examined her simple, black dress. It was classic, yet slightly conservative. Definitely flattering, but not provocative. Around her neck she wore a golden star pendant on a thin, gold chain; it was her mother's she told me. She rarely wore it out of fear of losing the only piece of her mother she had, but this was a special occasion. If everything went according to plan, we'd have no time to go back for anything.

I touched it gently with my forefinger, and we exchanged a quick and secret smile.

"The morning star," I mouthed to her, and she blushed slightly.

"Ugh. Cut it out," Santana moaned. "I won't be able to keep my breakfast down with you two whispering disgusting 'sweet nothings' to each other."

"Hey, I think it's starting," Puck interjected, pointing towards a group of heavily armed guards approaching the center of the square.

The crowd fell into a hushed din as the Capitol officials began to make their way onto the stage. Effie Trinket, our district's representative, made her way towards the steps. She was a petite woman, with dyed hair that changed color with the seasons. She, like any other Capitol resident, was a slave to fashion. Judging by her outfit and her hair, blue was in this year. Effie was a relatively new representative for district 12, but she was the first one to actually put her full efforts into representing us. I assumed it was because she was gunning for a promotion into one of the districts that actually produced winners more than once or twice a century, but I couldn't deny that she made due with what she had reasonably well. Unlike most of the residents of district 12, I didn't see her as someone to hate; she was, after all, just doing her job. Each year after the Reaping, I would have to accompany my father and mother to several of the post-Reaping events, and I had spoken to Effie on a few occasions. As far as I could tell, she wasn't a bad person; just an incredibly shallow, vapid, and annoying one. To her, everything was appearances; in truth, she reminded me a bit of my mother before her spirit was completely broken. I still hadn't decided if this made me like Effie more, or less. Either way, Effie was probably the best that district 12 could hope for; the only time a representative works for district 12 is if they are inexperienced newcomers, or if they're being punished for some sort of major screw-up in managing one of the districts that actually matters to the Capitol. Effie fell into the former category, hence her enthusiasm, and I regarded her with a feeling much closer to general dislike rather than venomous hatred.

"That woman makes me more sick to my stomach than you and Rachel," Santana hissed under her breath. My opinion of Effie was not a common one; most citizens of the Seam viewed her as an enemy, a woman who made her living facilitating murder. Horrible things were often said about her in hushed whispers. Santana was not shy about her hatred for the Capitol and all things connected to it, though she had the guile and tact to not vocalize most of the treasonous things she believed. As outspoken as she was, she knew better than to risk being arrested, beaten or put to death. She, like most of the citizens of the Seam, just let the rage seethe beneath the surface.

"We could do a lot worse," I whispered back, knowing that anything other than a relatively neutral response would likely spark an argument. I could sense Santana's tension growing rapidly, and once she lost her temper the venom would start flowing; decorum be damned. Much to my fear and dismay, I knew that Santana's temper burned hotter than a blacksmith's furnace. At the moment she greatly resembled a bristled, agitated cat; it wouldn't take much to bring out the claws. It was best to just back away slowly unless you wanted to get scratched.

"Hey, it's the bluejay mating season, and they like to go after blue things. Maybe one will attack her hair while she's on stage," Noah suggested, which seemed to disperse some of Santana's anger. "I bet she squawks louder than the bird does." Santana slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. I breathed a sigh of relief; I always worried that Santana was going to get angry enough to snap and start saying the sorts of things that get people locked in the stocks or shot in the back of the head. I knew she had those sorts of thoughts; she never verbalizes them unless we're behind closed doors, but some of the things she says about the Capitol makes me wonder if she's planning a one-woman revolt. Fortunately, Noah is usually able to calm her down before she does something stupid, which put my mind at ease. I knew that he would keep her from getting herself into too much trouble once I was gone. Noah was not a fan of the Capitol either, but he was much more calm than Santana, and I knew I could trust him to keep her safe from herself.

I impatiently looked back to the stage. Effie was now standing at the side of it, giving instructions to her staff and doing a quick sound and video check with one of the camera men. Standing beside her was our district's only living previous winner; Sue Sylvester. Sue was a ruthless, cunning, and clever woman who had won her Hunger Games title through diplomacy, subtle trickery, and the occasional literal knife to the back. Effie finished adjusting her microphone and she walked to the center of the stage. The crowd began to applaud politely and she waved to the audience, motioning to Sue to follow her. The crowd's applause turned to cheers as Sue walked onto the stage, and she bowed courteously, though she was clearly annoyed that she was required to be here. Here cold eyes flickered with both determination and a certain sort of sadness; the sort of sadness that any reasonable human being would try to down in alcohol. Sue was, of course, not a reasonable human being. Whatever it was that she did to keep herself sane, it worked; she was still in remarkably good shape both mentally and physically, and often boasted that she could probably win five Hunger Games in a row if given the chance. Though no one ever took her up on this proposition, we all knew that she was fully capable of making good on her boast. She talked about it so often that sometimes I got the impression that she was hoping it would happen.

The Capitol's procession theme began to play on the large speakers that dotted the edge of the stage and the square, and the rest of the Capitol representatives and officials began making their way up the steps on the side of the stage, flanked by heavily armed Enforcers. Effie stood at the center of the stage, greeting each individual who walked up the steps, making introductions as necessary. Sue took her seat in the row of chairs lined up at the back of the stage, maintaining a body posture that clearly expressed how bored she was with the whole ordeal. My father and mother began to make their way up the steps. My mother was clinging to my father's arm, digging her nails into the sleeve of his double-breasted suit coat. Her smile was so stiff it looked like it was painted on her face, and I could see her frustration and embarrassment very clearly in her eyes. As they walked up the stairs behind Sue, my father's feet fell heavily on the stairs. He stumbled a little at the top, and my mother immediately jerked him towards the line of fancy chairs at the back of the stage. She pushed him into his chair, and he dropped into it like a sack of flour drops off a high shelf. She sat beside him, fingernails still clawing at his arm.

I grinned widely; he was drunk. No, he was completely and utterly wasted. He was so drunk he was having trouble maintaining his posture in his seat. He was still hiding his level of intoxication reasonably well, but this year he was intoxicated enough for it to be obvious to a casual observer. I had to stop myself from laughing when Sue turned to him and immediately sneered in disgust, sniffing the air slightly. I knew that odds were he'd keep it together, but a tiny part of me hoped that he would slump off his chair or off the stage in a stupor, embarrassing himself and anyone who was stupid enough to stand or sit within five feet of him. Though it would be an embarrassment to our district and my family, I still was sort of hoping that it would happen. After all, In a few hours district 12 would no longer be my problem, and dealing with the public image nightmare that would ensue from my father being drunk during the opening ceremony on national television would give Rachel and I an even better chance of escaping unnoticed. It would probably cause mass chaos amongst the powers that be, but Rachel and I could only benefit from the Capitol officials being distracted by my father's drunken faux pas.

Of course, a part of me just wanted it to happen so he would be exposed to the world as the drunken monstrosity I knew far too well. It was the perfect sort of revenge; the kind that he would bring upon himself.

Wishful thinking, I supposed.

Once all the officials were seated on the stage, Effie addressed the crowd and asked that they quiet down so the ceremony could begin. The Reaping began with the usual pomp and circumstance; a retelling of the destruction of District 13 as a result of the civil war in Panem, a review of the reason that the Hunger Games must be held to memorialize that event, highlights of last year's competition; so on and so forth. I have to admit that I was completely zoned out during most of the introductions, considering they didn't vary much from year to year. District 12 hadn't had a winner in over two decades; odds were that this year wasn't going to break the mold. Part of me was just bored with the same old routine, but a part of me just wanted to shut it all out in hopes that it would go by faster. The sooner it was over, the sooner Rachel and I would be on that train to the Capitol.

I felt Rachel squeeze my hand and I snapped back into the moment; the glass bowls were being brought out and placed on their respective podiums. The audience fell into complete silence. The only sounds were the nervous breathing of the tributes and the awkward shuffling and hushed murmuring of the crowd. the bowls were the size of a large water bucket and made entirely of polished, clear glass. They were large enough that you would have to use both arms to carry them. Designs and patterns were etched into them, and each was labelled 'District 12' across the front. Despite being a great deal fancier than anything found in most of district 12, our bowls were not nearly as elaborate as the ones found in other districts. They sat on two podiums on either side of Effie, and were filled with the slips of paper that had the tribute's names written on them in pretty, flourished hand-writing. I wondered briefly what went through the minds of the people who had to write out all those names, and I wondered if they had to disconnect themselves from what the names meant in order to do their job.

"This is it," I whispered to Rachel, and she squeezed my hand. Noah crossed his arms, and Santana took my free hand in hers. The square was buzzing with nervous anticipation as Effie reached her gloved hands towards the first glass bowl. In some districts the bowls are barely half-full, but our bowls tended to be filled to the brim because of the number of tributes who have to take the tesserae, despite our relatively small population.

"Ladies first!" Effie chirped, gesturing towards the bowl on the left side of the stage. I felt Santana's hand clasp tighter around mine. I squeezed back, giving her a very small, yet genuine, smile. She stared back at me with an expression that was so stoic and indifferent it could be mistaken for boredom or disinterest by a stranger, but Santana was my best friend; I knew better. As much as she tried to put on a brave face for her family, I could see the fear flickering behind her eyes. We both knew how many times her name was in that bowl; forty two. She had no brothers to work in the mines, and since the people of the Seam were often too poor to pay for her family's healing services, Santana had to take the tesserae to ensure that she, her mother, and her grandmother didn't starve to death. As much as I had tried to push the thought from my mind, I knew the odds were not in her favor. I glanced over at Noah, who was rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands firmly shoved in his pockets and his eyes on his feet. He looked like a child trying to avoid the teacher's gaze when he hadn't completed his homework, hoping that he wouldn't be called on to demonstrate a problem for the class. He spotted me out of the corner of his eye and gave me the same sort of small smile I offered Santana, and immediately returned to staring at his boots. His odds were as poor as Santana's; he also had forty two slips with his name written on them. Noah had a small herd of younger siblings, and when his father was killed in a mining explosion several years ago, the responsibility of feeding his family fell on him. He worked longer and harder than any other miner for his wages so none of his younger siblings had to take the tesserae. As hard as he tried to maintain an image of being indifferent to everything, it was clear that he was anything but indifferent to his family. I was briefly filled with a sense of pride in that my two closest friends were such brave and strong individuals.

In the next moment, the gut wrenching guilt returned; I had never taken the tesserae. I was one of the only candidates in district 12 who could claim such good odds. I let myself look around the square at the other tributes, huddled into tense groups of friends and classmates. Almost everyone I laid eyes on had taken the tesserae at least once. I started to feel sick. I didn't want to be selected any more than any of them, but in that moment I hated my position of privilege with such venom that I felt a slight burning sensation in my throat.

Rachel squeezed my hand again, and my eyes met hers for a moment. She wore a stoic expression similar to Santana's, but she wasn't making an effort to conceal how nervous she was for both herself and everyone else. I knew her odds were as good as mine, since her father was a merchant and was able to keep himself and Rachel clothed and fed without aid from the Capitol's tesserae program, but there was always a chance. A single slip of paper is all it takes.

I could feel my nervousness slowly turning into fear, and it threatened to start constricting my throat and chest.

"Stay with me, Quinn," Rachel whispered. I nodded stiffly, but the negative thoughts just kept creeping back into my mind, just like they always do during the Reaping ceremony. I was expendable. The mayor's daughter. The pretty blonde girl who lived a life of comfort so far above her classmates that it was a wonder I had managed to make any friends at all. I didn't have a family to feed. I didn't have a business to keep running. I didn't have younger siblings to care for, or aging parents or grandparents. Every single face my eyes fell upon belonged to a family who needed them, and as much as Rachel needed me, it was a need of the heart. I was alone in this crowd, because I was the only person in it who could be selected without catastrophic consequences. The second this was over, I was going to turn my back to this living hell and never look back… and for a moment, I felt the weight of the world collapse on my shoulders.

_If only I could take them all with me. If only I could stop this nightmare. If only I could give this world a glimmer of hope in the darkness. If only I could give them something more to believe in than… this._

I was shaken out of my thoughts when the crowd stiffened and held its' collective breath. Effie plunged her hand into the bowl and shuffled through the slips of paper for several agonizing seconds. She stirred the slips within the bowl, mixing the ones on the top with the ones on the bottom to ensure that the order wasn't stacked or rigged. The slips of paper were thoroughly stirred inside the bowl, and a quiet rustling sound could be heard through Effie's microphone.

"Breath, Quinn."

Effie's gloved hand finally grasped a single slip of paper, and she lifted from the bowl. She inspected the slip to ensure that she only had one in her hand, turning it over between her fingers.

"Stay with me, Quinn."

_Exhale. Just exhale. You need to breathe._

She unfolded the slip of paper, carefully examining the name that had been neatly written on it.

_Breathe, God damn it._

"Rachel Berry," she announced, and I felt the air forced from my lungs as if a dagger had been plunged into my chest.

**Author's notes:** Glee and the Hunger Games are property of their respective producers and creators.  
I apologize for not updating sooner, but real life got in the way via four major midterms. I will try to finish and upload chapter 3 before the end of the weekend to make up for completely blowing my own update schedule. Thank you for the reviews, follows, and encouragement! They are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3: Let It Pour Down on Me

The first winter that Noah and I ventured out into the woods together, I fell through the ice on the far side of the lake after severely miscalculating where the lake ended and solid ground began. The snow was so thick on the ground that we had ended up walking straight out onto the frozen lake without realizing it, and before we could walk back to the shore, the ice broke with a heart-stopping crack. I dropped into the frozen water, and I was plunged into a world of dark, deathly silence. For a few seconds, I was in shock; the water was so cold, I was afraid that my limbs would just freeze in place. I began to panic, clawing my way to the surface and surfacing from the water with a frightened gasp. I was able to suck in a lungful of air, and I could see Noah coming towards me, but I was unable to pull myself back onto the ice and I slipped back under the water. The cold penetrated every inch of me; I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move, and I couldn't think.

It felt like hours had passed when I was roughly pulled out of the water by my jacket collar, and then dragged to the shore. As I lay there on my side, I could feel my body convulsing from the strength of my shivers, and I tried to take a breath, but I felt as if I were paralyzed. I could feel tears falling from my eyes, but I couldn't cry or scream.

_So, this is how I die_, I thought to myself. _This is it._

"Quinn! Fuck, Quinn! Oh God, I didn't know we were so close to the lake; breathe, Quinn, come on. You're out of the water! Breathe! Please!" he pleaded, turning me onto my back. He placed his hands on my chest. "Breathe, god damn it!" He pressed down; hard. The air exploded out of my lungs, and I gasped for more, crying out in pain as the icy air stung my insides. I wanted to start bawling, but I was still in shock, and unable to do anything other than gasp for air.

This was the only other time I had felt the way that I did right now; paralyzed, gasping, and terrified.

A horrible, sickly silence had fallen over the crowd. Everyone had frozen in place, as if time had stopped in its' tracks. I felt Rachel's hand slip from mine as she began to make her way through the front of the crowd, and she looked back at me with pleading and watery eyes, begging me not to make a scene. I choked back a sob and let the Enforcers lead her forward to the stage, and she took her place next to Effie. My heart dropped into my stomach, and the sickness I had felt earlier had turned into a very real threat of me throwing up my lunch on the girls in front of me.

_No, it isn't fair. This isn't right. I can't let her die like this. I'll die without her._

"My, aren't you a pretty thing? Gosh, the boys must never leave you alone with a beautiful face like that!" Effie spoke in an effort to distract the crowd from their hushed side conversations. While she had no way of knowing who Rachel was, she was definitely aware that the crowd seemed unusually surprised by this year's tribute selection. Santana was becoming aware that many faces in the crowd were turning towards me, and she glared back at them, hushing the scared whispers echoing all around us. It wasn't common knowledge that Rachel and I were anything more than just very close friends, but many suspected as much, and I knew they were intensely interested to see how I would react. Much to their disappointment, I didn't react at all. I couldn't. My fingernails were digging into my palms so hard, I could feel the skin starting to tear. Somewhere in my head, a voice was telling me to cry. Scream. Do something. React. Anything.

A sharp jab in my ribs snapped me out of my stupor, and an Enforcer was gesturing towards the stage. I thankfully suppressed my urge to lash out at him; had I not been devoting every ounce of strength to taking air into my lungs and pushing it back out again, he might have gotten a slap across the face. Fortunately I was so shocked and numb that I simply stared at him, jaw clenched and eyes burning. He gently placed a hand on my lower back, and began to move me forward through the crowd. At first I was slightly confused, but I walked with him, not wanting to make a scene.

Then I remembered. That's right. I was supposed to walk up and take my place beside my father once the girl was called. Every year they would pull me up from the crowd, and I would stand beside by father until the boy had been called, and the opportunity for volunteering was offered to the tributes. It was really done out of formality rather than necessity; no one ever volunteered in district 12. Once the two tributes had been set in stone, I would present each of the two tributes a token representing district 12. The tokens were a small pin made of polished iron, in the shape of a pickaxe. At the apex of the pickaxe's handle was a small diamond, and set to the left and the right of the diamond were two small pieces of coal that had been covered in some sort of clear sealant that prevented them from blackening your fingers when you handled the pin.

Each district had pins like these; district 4 had a fish hook and a ship's anchor, representing their primary industry of shipping and fishing. District 11 had a scythe and a tree, representing their agriculture industry. So on and so forth. The pins were usually very ornate and made from expensive materials, but ours were relatively simple, save for the small diamond. The pickaxe represented the coal mines, and the diamonds and coal were taken from the mines of the Seam. Once the two tributes had been selected, I would attach the pins to their clothing, say a small prayer that was traditional for district 12's tributes, and Effie would make a speech explaining the significance of the pins. Usually, she would say that the pickaxe represents the pride of district 12's miners, and their devotion to being the backbone for all industry in Panem. The two small chunks of coal represented the two tributes, and the diamond represented the value of hard work and determination, for even coal can be turned into something precious, rare, and beautiful under great and seemingly impossible pressure.

It is never directly mentioned that there is only one diamond, because it symbolizes the fact that there can be only one winner, even if the final two tributes are from the same district. She would also emphasize the fact that every representative of district 12 had worn these pins; though I never wanted to know the details, I knew that the pins had to be retrieved somehow. The idea behind doing this was that it would instill the tributes with a sense of history and legacy; in reality, it was just another way to remind the tributes that their life was no longer theirs, and would likely be over soon.

The Enforcer escorted me up the stairs to my place beside my father's make-shift throne. I glanced down at him, and much to my surprise, he was smiling. Not just smiling; he was positively beaming. He nodded in silent agreement towards Rachel, and I felt anger growing in the pit of my stomach. It suddenly occurred to me that he had seen my entire reaction to Rachel's selection; I had inadvertently given him the confirmation he had been seeking for the last year. The only reason he wasn't closing his hands around my throat this very second was that the problem had now taken care of itself; Rachel was the tribute. She was no longer a problem to him.

"Good," I heard him whisper to my mother. "This is very good."

I became aware of the taste of blood in my mouth; I had bitten through the inside of my lip in the sudden rush of rage that had washed over me. I didn't know how I could possibly do it, but I couldn't let him win. I had to do _something_.

Rachel stared forward into the crowd, not daring to look at me. I could see the tears at the corner of her eyes, and I forced myself to look away for fear that my own tears would start pouring down my cheeks.

"Let's see what young gentleman will be joining miss Berry!" Effie said cheerfully, plunging her hand into the second bowl. A few seconds of rooting around yielded the second slip of paper, which she unfolded with the sort of glee with which a child opens a wrapped gift on their birthday.

The bile was creeping up my throat again.

"Kurt Hummel!"

Another eerie silence fell over the crowd, and I felt like I had been punched in the throat. Kurt Hummel was the mining foreman's sweet and gentle son, and Rachel's best friend. Kurt had been a sickly child; I remember seeing him at Santana's shop rather often when we were younger. He had asthma, and had always been weaker and smaller than all the other boys. He hadn't a muscle on his body, and a gentle demeanor to match. Despite his apparent lack of usefulness, he had found an invaluable place in the community; he could fix anything. If you needed a shirt mended, you took it to Kurt. If you needed a broken water pump to be fixed, Kurt was the perfect person for the job. He would even fix my father's pocket watch and my mother's broken jewelry. His small and nimble hands made him invaluable in a town full of clumsy, ham fisted miners. He created the most wonderful recipes for anything from cakes to soup to roasted pheasant. He could paint and sing. He wrote jokes, songs and stories to tell the children of the district, and was often called on to keep them entertained while their parents were out working in the shops or the mines.

There wasn't a single thing that Kurt could not do except do harm to anyone or anything. He couldn't swing an axe into a block of wood, let alone a human skull. It was debatable if he could even lift an axe.

_This isn't fair. This isn't right. Two best friends, pitted against one another. And the most essential set of hands for doing good are being forced to do evil._

_ This. Isn't. Right._

I could see Kurt desperately trying to reassure his father as he was dragged forward through the crowd by two Enforcers who were an entire head taller than him, and instead of sickness, I felt anger. Tears of anger. I subtlety pretended to brush a lock of hair away from my face as I pressed a knuckle to the corner of my eye, preventing the tear from falling down my cheek. Kurt's father was holding his fists to his eyes, but when he dropped them you could see the tears forming trails through his soot stained face.

When Kurt took his place beside Rachel, Effie quickly looked him up and down; though she tried her best, she couldn't completely hide her disappointment. I knew she had high hopes for the male tribute, since Rachel was sure to be a crowd-pleaser, but the look on Effie's face silently stated what the entire crowd knew; he didn't have a chance.

I was staring at the ground a few paces in front of me, fingernails digging into my palms and my lower lip set firmly between my teeth. I wasn't sure if I was more scared or angry, but whatever it was, it was threatening to boil over. It was all I could do to stop myself from physically trembling. I heard Effie making various comments about each of the tributes over the sound of blood pounding in my ears; it made everything seem like a dream.

_This can't be real. There must be something someone can do. There must be something I can do._

"Now, are there any volunteers who would like to vie for a chance at fame and glory in the name of District 12?"

"I volunteer!"

The crowd shifted for a moment in confusion, looking over their shoulders to see where the voice had come from. A very tall, dark haired, muscle bound boy was shoving his way through the crowd, and upon reaching the edge of it he was briefly halted by Enforcers. He did not try to push past them, but he raised his hand much like a child would to answer a teacher's question in class, and firmly stated, "I volunteer!"

There was an odd sort of uncomfortable shuffling that took over the entire crowd and everyone on stage. This is District 12; no one ever volunteers for another tribute in District 12. It wasn't just unheard of; it never happened. If a younger sibling was selected, the older siblings knew they would be better off staying and providing for the family. Friendship only runs so deep. Even in a community as close knit as ours, it was an unspoken truth; better you than me. Even Effie startled at the volunteer's first announcement of his intentions; she definitely wasn't expecting to hear those words. Not here. Not in District 12.

When the volunteer was brought up to the stage, it suddenly became clear; the hulking form of Finn Hudson stood before us, and Kurt was dragged away from him by an Enforcer as Kurt desperately pleaded with his step-brother to step down. Finn shook his head stubbornly and turned to Effie, and repeated his statement once again, "I volunteer."

Effie tried her best to maintain appearances, but she was obviously a bit staggered.

"And who might you be, young man?" she asked, quickly sizing him up. He was very tall; she had to tilt her head back to look at his face.

"I am Kurt's brother. I will be taking his place in the Hunger Games."

A smile began to form at the corners of Effie's mouth. Other districts had frequent volunteers, since competing in the Games was seen as an honor. It was something that other districts would train children for, and there was often a debate over which volunteer to choose. It was always good for ratings, a fact that Effie was assuredly aware of, and she let her smile spread across her face.

"Oh, how wonderful! A brother volunteering to take his sibling's place to fight for the honor of his family and the district! I am humbled to be in the presence of such a strong and honorable individual!"

I had to choke back a snorted laugh; as if Effie were capable of feeling humbled by anything.

The exchange between Effie and Finn continued for a few minutes, which gave me a few minutes to think.

Finn was tall, handsome and strong. He good at sports, but also kind. When his mother married Kurt's father (Kurt's mother had died of illness, while Finn's father had died in a mining accident) he had always made a point of including his brother in activities, no matter how much the other boys would tease. He protected his adopted brother with fierce loyalty, and so upon reflection, his sacrifice was not all that surprising to anyone who knew anything about Finn Hudson. He wasn't very bright; dense was usually the word that was used to describe him. But he was strong and determined, and everything Effie could have hoped for in a tribute. She was practically bubbling over with joy at the prospect of having such a fine tribute representing her district.

"Now, is there anyone who would like to volunteer for the young lady, here?" Effie asked the crowd.

A flurry of whispers and arguments broke out in hushed voices across the square, and for a moment a glimmer of hope was rising in my chest. But as the seconds ticked by, and no one made any move towards the stage, clarity hit me like a bolt of lightning. I knew that there wasn't a single person in that crowd that didn't have a business to run or a mouth to feed. There was no one amongst them who could leave their family without also ensuring great hardship or even starvation. Who amongst them was worth sacrificing? The settling silence made it clear that there was not a soul in the square who was worth sacrificing for Rachel Berry.

No one except me.

As if she could hear my thoughts, Santana's eyes slowly drifted towards me and she met my gaze. Though there was some distance between us, we were close enough to each other that we could make out each other's facial expressions. Judging by the way her eyes widened and the way she began immediately shaking her head, she knew exactly what I was about to do. I looked away from her before I lost my nerve, and stepped forward towards Effie, who seemed confused that I was walking towards her a little too soon. Rachel turned her head and her eyes widened with horror because the second she caught my gaze, the words were already coming out of my mouth.

"I volunteer."

For the third time that day, the crowd fell into absolute, stunned silence. You could have heard a pin drop anywhere in that square; no breathing, no coughing, not even a slight breeze; just dead, stunned silence.

"…really?" Effie uttered in disbelief before she could stop herself, and immediately covered her mouth with her hand. Another agonizing couple of seconds passed and no one moved, as if everyone were afraid to be the first to make a sound.

"Yes. I volunteer," I repeated much more softly than the first time, staring directly into Effie's eyes. I didn't dare look at Rachel. I couldn't.

"…Really, am I so lucky to have two such wonderful, loving volunteers?" Effie covered her outburst well, probably hoping the initial 'really' would be edited out of the broadcast. "And who might you be, darling?"

_ You know who perfectly well who I am, I stand next to you every single year at this goddamn event_ I thought bitterly, but I knew she had to ask; the world was watching, after all.

"My name is Quinn Fabray. I am the daughter of Mayor Fabray of District 12."

"I say, my dear! Aren't you a courageous young woman! You know what they say, it's always the ones you least expect!" she added a hearty laugh at the end of her sentence, which quickly turned into nervous laughter when she glanced over at my father's face. I snuck a glance out of the corner of my eye; I was greeted by an ice cold, shocked stare, fists clutched around the armrests of his seat and mouth slightly agape in what appeared to be closer to disgust than surprise. My mother's face was frozen in terror, and I looked back to Effie before they noticed me staring. I didn't want to break the spell that was keeping them both silent. Though they knew better than to make a scene, my father was never known for being a reasonable man, and I had just confirmed his worst nightmares and suspicions in less than a single sentence. Also, he may be slightly more sober than he was an hour ago, but he was still wasted; he might just be drunk enough to attack me out of pure, pent up rage. I shut my eyes and prayed this would be over with before he had the chance to serve me the punishment he had been bottling up for months now.

_Now he knows for sure. Oh God, what have I done? But at least I'll be far away from here before he can do me any harm._

"And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen! I bring you Quinn Fabray and Finn Hudson, your district 12 tributes! May the odds ever be in your favor!" Effie said brightly, retrieving the box that contained two two pins from her handbag. She paused for a moment, suddenly aware that she would have to improvise this part of the ceremony, since it would be odd for me to put the pin on myself. She turned to Rachel and Kurt, who were now holding hands so tightly it looked like they were trying to crush each other's fingers, and offered the box to them.

"Would you do like to do the honors?" Effie asked, though everyone knew that wasn't really a question; they had no choice, the world was watching. With a trembling hand, Rachel opened the box and retrieved one of the two pins, and stepped in front of me.

"With strength of the body, the mind, and the heart, may you conquer the trials and tests that lay before you. And should you find the path to victory, may you follow it back to the place where you began," Rachel's voice did not tremble, but her hands were having trouble attaching the pin to my lapel. Effie seemed thrilled that Rachel remembered the saying; it would be tedious if she had to teach it to her first. I was vaguely aware of Kurt's voice speaking the same words to my left as he attached the second pin to Finn's lapel, but I could only look at the trembling girl who stood before me. She looked up at me, searching my eyes for something, though I didn't know what she was looking for. I desperately wanted to grab her cheeks and kiss her passionately right there, in front of the entire world. In front of my father. Consequences be damned; I would not leave without saying goodbye. Instead I bit my lip and tried not to blink to stop the tears from falling from my eyes. I could feel my jaw was clenched, and my eyes were cold; I didn't know how to let myself show emotion right now without completely breaking in two.

_You are supposed to be brave,_ I thought to myself. _You know you aren't. But you have to pretend to be. For Rachel. Do it for Rachel._

"Aren't you going to say something?" Rachel whispered, as Effie began wrapping up the opening ceremonies.

"There is nothing left to say," I said softly, hoping she would understand.

_Be brave, Quinn, be brave for her. Numb the pain until you are made of stone. _

The world went silent around me, as if I was underwater. I was hearing words and seeing images, but nothing was sinking in. I was aware that Kurt was sobbing into his sleeve as he was dragged down from the stage, and that Finn was pursing his lower lip in a valiant and successful effort to not cry in front of his brother. I could see Kurt grab Rachel as they were both forcefully led towards the crowd, and they clung to each other until they were shoved through the gates into the crowd of tributes. I saw her look back one last time before she disappeared into the crowd, and I felt the blood in my veins begin to go cold. I heard Effie tell the camera men to cut the tape, and she thanked them for a job well done. She turned to Finn and I, and let us know that we were to make our way to the train immediately, to be prepped for our post-Reaping interviews and for our farewells to our family and friends. I felt my body walking with poise and confidence as I passed my father, and I felt myself raise my chin in defiance to him as I passed.

Reality snapped back for a moment when he averted his gaze in a combination of fury and disgust. I smiled defiantly, and raised my head higher. My mother started at me with confusion and fear, and I could tell that the only thing stopping her from screaming out my name was my father's palpable rage. I suddenly realized that if he had wanted to lash out at me, this was his only chance. I stared at him, daring him to speak. I dared him to lay a hand on me. I dared him to leave another scar on my pretty face, now that he knew for sure.

"How does it feel," I asked, suddenly filled with an inner strength and power that I could never have imagined that I could possess. "to not be the one in control?"

He simply lowered his head, and in that moment I knew I was victorious; I was no longer afraid. He knew that, in that moment, he had no power over me. I sneered at him as I left the stage, and he simply trembled and boiled with rage, unable to release the pressure that was causing the veins to bulge and throb in his forehead. For the first time in my life I was able to look at him without fear, and in that moment, in spite of the fact that I was more of a prisoner than I ever have been before… I felt just a little bit free.

The temporary rush of courage and confidence faded quickly back into a nightmarish fog as we approached the coal-powered monstrosity that would take us to the Capitol, and I went into a sort of a trance that made the details fade away into the mist. The train was frighteningly enormous, and it spewed choking smoke into the air like a sleeping dragon. I remember the tracks, and the gentle hum of electricity that sparked through them. I remember walking up a set of metal steps into the belly of the beast, expecting it to resemble the inside of a clock tower, full of pistons and gears. I was surprised to find a room more comfortable and plush than the finest room in my father's mansion, with soft couches and an elegant dining area, and a quaint breakfast nook tucked into one corner of the train car. I remember being escorted away from Finn by Effie, and she led me to my own room. I was instructed to gather my thoughts and clean myself up for the interviews and farewells that were to follow later in the day.

"Three hours," Effie said, gesturing towards an obnoxiously ornate clock on the wall. "Three hours from now you'll need to be washed and presentable; which is not as much of a problem for you as it has been for past tributes…" she trailed off, as if she could see the icy hand of guilt gripping around my throat. "… I'm sorry, Quinn. That was a bit callous of me. Please, help yourself to the shower over there, and the arrangement of clothing in the closet. I recommend picking something you feel is representational of you."

"Thank you, I'll make sure to be on time," I responded, and stared at the large dressers and wardrobes that were probably filled to the brim with the finest clothing money could by. There was an awkward silence, as both of us shifted from side to side on our feet, unsure how to react to the circumstances. It was clear that she wasn't accustomed to having a personal connection to a tribute; she was a citizen of the Capitol, after all. If she were anyone else I would have been tempted to spit in her face out of spite and blind rage at the system that had made this entire situation necessary, but this was Effie. She may be shallow and vapid, but she wasn't a bad human being. We got along well in previous years at the post-Reaping dinners. We knew each other. She couldn't just push all human emotions and capacity for empathy aside this time; I was not a stranger. Though we were not strongly connected, I could sense that she was unsure how to handle me as a tribute. I could see that she was wrestling with something inside of herself, and I could also see that she was thoroughly and deeply disturbed by the small war waging behind her eyes.

"You did well this year. Thanks for… for trying. Most of our representatives never really made an effort, but you actually make district 12 look like more than just… just a joke," I said somewhat stiffly; I was having trouble finding the words to thank someone for sending me to my death, but I couldn't deny that I was thankful to have a representative who was going to do everything she could to help me out; I knew I would need all the help I could get.

"You are the only one deserving thanks in this room," she said with such genuine gratitude that I had to hold my breath for a few seconds to prevent tears from falling. "I know you probably think it's… strange for me to thank you for volunteering for something as dangerous as the Hunger Games, but in the shallowest respect… you and Finn will bring the district a lot of support for what you did. On a not-so-shallow aspect… you obviously did this for a reason, and though I don't quite understand it…" she eyed me suspiciously, but chose not to pursue the thought any further. At least not at the moment. "Ah. Nevermind. I'm taking away from your preparation time." I could see that she had much, much more to say, but we were under the watchful eye of the Capitol now. Every word spoken would be heard by a nation. There was no room for mistakes. Only friendly formality.

"Don't worry about it," I said, happy that she hadn't chosen now as the time to question me about my motivations.

"Remember, three hours. You will not be recorded in this room, so please don't worry about this conversation we've just had, but once you walk back out that door, the world is watching," she began to close the door, but stuck her head in before shutting it completely. "good luck, Miss Fabray, and may the odds forever be in your favor."

The door clicked shut. I blinked; was I really not being watched in this room? Was this the one safe haven I would have from the Capitol's all-seeing eyes?

I hoped and prayed that was the case, because before I could stop myself, I dropped to my knees and started sobbing harder than I ever had before.

**Author's Notes: **Glee and the Hunger Games are property of their respective producers and creators.  
Here we are, as promised, another chapter before the weekend is done! I'm sure you've noticed that the chapters have been getting shorter... I promise that won't be a trend, it's just the way that I've chosen to divide up the story. Thank you for the follows, favs, and reviews! They are much appreciated!  
The next chapter is going to be a long one, and it's going to be exploding at the seams with Faberry (and a little Brittana) angst. You know, the sort of heart wrenching stuff that we read fanfiction for. :P I'll try to get it up by Friday, but if not, I'll have it up by next Sunday. Reviews are appreciated, if you enjoyed the story thus far.


	4. Chapter 4: Becoming Myself

An hour was how long it took me to run out of tears to cry. My eyes ran dry and my breathing slowed, coming in calm breaths instead of wracked, sobbing gasps. I sniffled and cleared my nose, and I felt my skin tighten as the last tears dried on my cheeks. I took a deep breath, and I finally felt the comforting numbness wash over me. To my surprise, I let out a very quiet laugh.

"What have I done? Oh, what have I done?" I wondered aloud, closing my eyes for a moment to take in the full weight of my decision within me.

A sort of calm flooded my veins, and I was able to find the strength to lift my head. My arms felt heavy and dead, but I was able to convince them to support my weight as I slowly began to push myself up off the floor. I shoved my body into a kneeling position, head bowed and arms trembling slightly. I took a breath, staring at the polished, hardwood floor; it was made of mahogany, like the entryway to my father's house. My fingers stiffened and clawed at it as I stared at my reflection in the heavily polished surface, choking back the memory that was threatening to break into my conscious mind. For a moment, my reflection seemed to twist and change; split lip, bloodied nose, a cut across the brow; an angry shadow just behind me.

_Oh God, forgive me._

I turned around immediately, jumping to my feet and grabbing the candlestick from the coffee table in a panicked frenzy, but there was nothing, no one. I looked back at the floor, and saw nothing but my own dark and blurred reflection.

_Breathe, Quinn_, I commanded myself, touching my face hesitantly. No blood, no cuts. Just a tiny scar that ran down my lower right lip, and a more visible one that carved a jagged path from just above my eyebrow down to just above the beginning of my eyelid. I traced it's path, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was real. I was here. It wasn't happening. But most importantly; I was able to stop myself from slipping into the dark. It wasn't something that happened too often, at least not anymore, but if I was going to be fighting for my life I couldn't afford to be fighting my demons at the same time. Unfortunately, I wasn't entirely sure that those two things wouldn't begin to blend and bleed together once the games had begun.

Oh God, the games. The circumstances hit me like a brick to the back of the skull, and my mind reeled as reality began to sink in; in the moment, I wasn't considering the consequences for myself, my only thought was that I had to save Rachel. I only had the capacity to think far enough to volunteer in her place; only now did I have the ability to truly comprehend what it was that I had volunteered for. For a moment I wondered if I was experiencing remorse or regret, but it only took a moment of remembering what I felt when Rachel's name was called to dismiss that notion.

I didn't regret what I had done. Not for a moment. I did it to save Rachel's life, because though I didn't have much time to consider the options, I knew that my odds were better than hers. Further contemplation did nothing to dissuade my convictions; I had to do it. Rachel may have been brave enough to venture outside of district 12, but she wasn't an adventurer or a hunter; she just wanted a taste of freedom, and somewhere to sing. Before we met that day in the firefly field, she had never imagined that she would ever venture farther than that from the safety of the district 12 fence. It was only because of me that she had gone to the lake; I was the adventurous one. I was the one who enjoyed slipping down rocky hills, ripping up clothes, scraping knees, and getting dirty. It was what I needed to feel… anything. Without the scrapes and cuts on my hands and arms from the trees and rocks I would climb and clamber over, I felt nothing; I was the porcelain doll my father always wanted me to me. The forest breathed life into me, and when I was in the wilderness, I was truly myself. I became more alert and calm; almost predatory. My movement was swift and silent, and every inch of me was bristling with strength and grace, like a mountain lion stalking its' prey. Perhaps Rachel could have been taught these things, had she needed to learn them, but there was one thing I could do that I would never want Rachel to learn.

I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water run for a few moments while I stripped off my cardigan and dress. I threw the ensemble in the waste basket in a petty display of defiance, and though I knew that no one else would know that I did it, I still got that small little glimmer of satisfaction that petty acts of rebellion always seem to yield. I stared at myself in the full length mirror; I felt like I had lost ten pounds since this morning. My face was red, but hollow, and my hip bones and collar bones seemed much more prominent now than they did just this morning. I leaned forward, examining my face. I traced the scar on my lip and my brow once more, and I felt a dull throb of pain in my wrist. The scar across my clavicle was almost gone, but the scars that carved a jagged pattern across my abdomen remained. I touched each one gently, as the sound of shattered glass echoed somewhere in my subconscious mind.

_Such a shame to scar such a pretty face, but sin leaves its' mark on all of us; and considering the unspeakable, abhorrent things you've done… you should feel blessed that those small marks are all you'll have to bear._

"They don't mark my sins, they mark yours," I said aloud, feeling the hate begin to spark inside me like a wildfire in a dry field. I smiled, remembering that the tables had finally turned. I smiled more broadly, like a snake bearing it's fangs before it strikes. The revenge I had secretly longed for was well within my grasp. I played with this thought as I stepped into the shower, feeling the tears wash away from my face. I grabbed the washcloth and grabbed a bar of soap from the selection at random, lathering it on the cloth. Evil thoughts began to drift into my mind, and I had to stifle a laugh, realizing that perhaps there was a silver lining to all of this; had everything gone according to plan, I would just be running away like I always had. Now that I had nothing to lose, I was free to take him down with me. I raised the washcloth to my face, and inhaled the potent, floral scent. It was strong, almost too strong, but I was drawn to it. As my nose adjusted to the strength of the scent, it began to register as something familiar. Something I knew. Something I loved.

Gardenias.

"_The things he did to you were monstrous, but you can't let them turn you into a monster," Rachel said, tucking the flower behind my ear. "It matches your eyes, love, and your beauty."_

_ "Beauty is only skin deep," I said._

_ "Only if you let it be."_

Rachel's voice rang clear as a bell in my head, and the hatred lost its' grip and slipped away from me. Had I not already cried out all of my tears, I probably would have started bawling right there in the shower. Instead, I was filled with the same numbing calm I had felt earlier; she was right. I couldn't let him win. If I let the hate into my heart, then I was no better than him. I wouldn't let my bitterness and pain poison me the way they poisoned him. I wouldn't let myself become the haunted, empty shell that he had come to be.

"You are still human," I said to myself. "If nothing else, I still have my humanity." I wanted to believe that would always be true, but as my thoughts once again drifted to the Hunger Games, a seed of doubt had been planted as to whether or not that would still be the case for much longer. Rachel was usually the thing that let me keep my humanity from slipping away; a part of me was scared to death that I would become the kind of monster that gave me both the scars on my skin and the scars in my soul. It was a double-edged blade that I was sure to cut myself on; the thing that I could do that Rachel couldn't was the thing that frightened me the most about myself. If I allowed it, I could become the demons that haunted me. I could numb the pain until I was made of stone. I could take the years of pure and venomous hatred I had locked away in the darkest parts of my heart and use it, instead of Rachel's love, to fuel the fire that burns within me.

I could become the monster that marked me; and I could use this power to kill.

There was a war raging inside me about when I should allow myself to resort to turning into that sort of monster, and whether or not I should allow it at all. I leaned my head against the wall, weighing the options again and again. I knew I was fit and strong; I was fast enough to stand a chance at the Cornucopia, and I was clever enough to avoid capture. If I let myself disconnect with my humanity, I could bring forth the monster and kill without remorse; I could win the games. But what good is winning if I've turned into the thing that I can't possibly live with being? If I unleash the monster to make myself capable of murdering another human being, what will be left of me to give to Rachel when I return? Was it better to refuse to lose my humanity, though I doubted I could bring myself to kill without it? The monster would kill the remorse and guilt, but it would also kill me. I would become someone other than the girl that Rachel loved. Someone dark. Someone like him.

I turned off the shower, and stepped out into the crisp air. As I dried myself off, I wiped away the steam from the mirror so I could look at my face once again.

If I'm going to die no matter what I do, shouldn't I at least die as myself?

"Perhaps there is another way," I whispered. "But I cannot possibly see how. Quinn, you'd better stop talking to yourself before the cameras start rolling; people might realize you're insane. We have to keep that quiet for as long as possible. Okay? Okay."

I glanced at the clock, seeing that I had already wasted two hours between laying broken on the floor and my philosophical debate with myself in the shower. I brushed out my hair and quickly applied my makeup, opting for heavier black eyeliner rather than a natural look; I wanted to look the way I did when I saw Rachel, because that was who I was. That was who I wanted the world to see. As I rifled through the wardrobe, I quickly realized that there was nothing but dresses in it. I immediately felt my heart sink, but upon opening the drawers, I realized I had gotten ahead of myself. I found a pair of crisp, dark, denim jeans that fit perfectly and were tight straight down to the ankle. The thread that held them together was a shimmery black, and intricate swirling patterns had been carefully sewn into the back pockets. In another drawer I found a simple, long sleeved, dark green shirt. I was very surprised to find brand new, 'fashion-forward' versions of my adventuring clothes, but I was thankful that I wouldn't have to wear a dress.

Not until the stylists got ahold of me, at least.

A selection of shoes lined the back wall; there were many pairs of heels in many colors, but much to my gleeful surprise, there were almost as many pairs of boots. They were not practical boots; most of them were heeled, and all of them had small fashion touches, such as leather tooling or a buckle across the ankle. I chose a pair of black boots that laced up the front, with a silver buckle that secured a small strap that ran across the point where the ankle meets the top of the back and sides had a vine-like pattern that had been tooled into the leather; it was fancy, but subtle. I found a matching belt with a similarly decorated silver buckle, and I fastened it across my hip, just like I would do with my own belt. I stared at myself in the mirror, pleased with the way that my reflection stared back. I looked like myself again, minus a ponytail; I opted to leave my hair down, and simply pinned it into place with a few bobby pins so it wouldn't get in my face. I looked strong, yet feminine.

Effie will probably hate it, I thought, immediately deciding that I couldn't care less. I was immediately struck with a little bit of guilt at that thought; her job was to make sure I was able to get sponsors and fair coverage in the games. She wouldn't be able to do her job if I contradicted her every step of the way.

This line of thought began spiraling downward into a pit of self doubt, and I paced back and forth, pulling open drawers and trying to force myself to at least look through the dress selection. I glanced at the clock; I only had fifteen minutes left. Did I have time to change? Should I change? No, I shouldn't, because this is representative of who I am. That's what Effie said. But I'm pretty sure she meant within the constraints of acceptable fashion for women. What the hell was acceptable in the Capitol? My father's warped concept of femininity was all I had; my style was just a rebellion against that. Was there a middle ground? Maybe I should see if there's a green dress. That might work.

Fuck it, I'm not changing.

"Quinn? Are you ready-"

"I can change if you don't like it!" I blurted out half from panic and half from legitimate self doubt, spinning around to see Effie standing in the doorway to my bedroom.

"What? No, you look fantastic. I love it. It's unique and brash, yet feminine. Great color on you. Love the dark makeup. Practical, but sensible. The boots are amazing, aren't they? Those were my favorite in the collection this year. It really makes a statement that expands upon your character," Effie was gushing a little, but it made me relax to know that if I was going to be dragged to hell and possibly back again, I could at least do it in clothing that I liked. "I don't know about the hair though. The long locks is a little old-fashioned, especially with the pins-no! Don't take them out. We don't have time. It'll work for now, but when you meet with your stylist team that's the first thing I'm going to have them take a look at."

"What are they going to do to it?" I asked cautiously; it's true that my hair currently looked a little old fashioned, but I liked my hair the way it was; long, blonde, and soft like silk. I didn't want them changing it. It was part of who I was.

"I don't know, Quinn, but trust me; you're in good hands. Most of the representatives and other officials only stay in fashion because we have the stylists do the work for us. That's why we hire them; they know what they're doing. Thank God, too, because while you may have a good eye for design, people like me can't tell purple from blue or cotton from tweed," she took me by the arm, and we walked out of the room together. I decided that I was beginning to like Effie; I still thought she had the depth of a teaspoon, but she was growing on me, if only a little bit. "Now, here's what's going to happen; you will enter the next room, and you will be given a body mic. The room is mic'd too, so we don't miss anything while recording. Each tribute is allowed a small number of well wishers to see them off before the train departs the district. Remember, it's all being recorded, so… be aware of that. Each of your visitors will be mic'd as well, and they have been briefed about proper conduct and such. I know you already know the rules, though… right?" I nodded, and we entered the 'Farewell Room.' I could feel myself begin to tremble a little, not sure who I would be visited by. Effie gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Don't be afraid, Quinn, we're not going to throw you any curve balls. I think it is only fair to warn you though, your father fully intends to disown you on national television."

"Am I allowed to tell him how few fucks I give about that?" I laughed, and Effie raised her eyebrows in surprise, but I could see a smile crack at the corner of her mouth.

"Remember, Quinn; the games are all about showmanship. Skill does count, but games have been won and lost through sponsor support or the lack thereof. I know you've been playing a part your whole life; as long as you don't commit treason in the process, you can play any character you like. Just keep in mind the precedent you set; you volunteered. You've defied convention in half a dozen ways before lunchtime. The audience is going to want you to be brave. They want to see more of that. We'll discuss your character more in post production and during the presentation ceremony preparations… but right now, don't get to wrapped up in it. This is your last chance to say goodbye before we leave. So if you've got something to get off your chest, now would be the time," Effie motioned for me to sit on the couch, and I was quickly fitted for my body mic. The man who attached it to me worked quickly and was gone in less than a minute. Once he left, I became aware that there were no manned cameras in the room; just robotic ones.

"Anything but treason, then?" I joked. Effie nodded.

"Yes, anything but treason… but don't forget the world is watching. If you have something that you'd like to tell the world, this is probably the best time to do it. Good luck. I will see you after the interviews," she shut the door behind her, and I was left alone in the room to collect my thoughts and consider the things that Effie had said. It was true; sponsor support could make or break a tribute, and the right care package at the right time could mean the difference between life and death. So, if I wanted the sponsors to care about me, what character should I present to them? I played with this thought for a while, but in the end, I always ended up at the same place; just be yourself. I had played the lead in my father's play for eighteen years; it was time to show the world the truth.

It was time to reveal the human face behind the porcelain mask.

"If they don't like you as you are, and you have to change yourself to please the crowd, then you might as well let the monster take over now," I mouthed, but I didn't let the sounds escape my throat. "Let them take me as I am, or I don't want them to take me at all." I realized that I was probably digging my own grave, but what did I really have to lose? I could save my humanity, or save an empty shell. I'd rather die than surrender myself.

The door on the other side of the room opened, and I stood up as my father skulked into the room. He walked towards be, but stopped about ten feet short of what could be considered 'conversational distance.' For a moment we simply started at each other, arms at our sides, jaws clenched and set in stone.

"I won't bore you with the details. You know what you've done wrong. May God forgive your abhorrent, sinful soul-"

"You don't actually mean that, do you?" I began my question in an intentionally misleading manner; I hoped the audience caught onto that. "You don't actually want God to forgive me, do you? You're just saying things that because you like to pretend that you're a righteous man." I could see the rage smoldering in his eyes, but we both knew he was powerless here.

"How dare you-"

"You missed your opportunity, you know. To shut me up. Well, it would be more correct to say that you failed to follow through," he was now visibly shaking with rage, and I smirked defiantly, raising my chin in the way that I knew would make his blood boil.

"If you somehow manage to survive the games, don't you dare show your face in my house ever again, you disrespectful, petulant whore. You could have been something respectable, but now all you'll be is a trophy to hang on some other tribute's wall. You're nothing. No one will remember your name. You're worthless, worthless! Do you have any idea what you've interfered with? You think this is about you and that girl? You have no idea the chaos you have caused! I will-"

"You will shut up and you will listen to what I am about to say, because these are the last words I will ever need to speak to you, father," I interrupted him, and walked up to him until there was only a foot of space between us. There was a time when his words would cut to the bone, but the tides had finally turned. The boots I wore were heeled enough to make me tall enough to look him in the eye without craning my head all the way up, and that was enough to give me the last bit of confidence I needed to finish what I had to say. "If I am to be a trophy to be paraded about and displayed, I will not be yours. I will not be your trophy daughter. I will not be a trophy wife to whatever man you would have chosen for me. I will be the trophy of District 12, and I will be the trophy of the one I love, but never yours. I am not yours. Not now, and never again. And while I may only be remembered for my defiance, you will only be remembered as the thing that couldn't hold me back. I will rise above the mess you have made of me, and I will not become the monster you have so desperately tried to create. Now go home, put that bottle to your head, and pull the fucking trigger."

The seconds ticked by on the clock. His face contorted and switched quickly between shock, disgust, rage, and fear. He opened his mouth to speak, decided against it, and simply turned on his heel and walked out of the room. As the door slammed shut, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

_I did it. I can't believe I did it. I can't believe I was able to say those things to his face. I can't believe it._

I heard the door open a second time. I was trembling a little from the adrenaline still pumping in my veins, but my blood went cold the second my second visitor stepped into the room.

"Hello, Quinn," said Kurt softly, and I felt a knot develop in my throat. He sat down on one of the chairs in the center of the room, motioning for me to sit in the chair across from him. I sat down uneasily, legs crossed at the ankles and hands folded in my lap. I was unsure what Kurt was doing here talking to me instead of Finn; I could only assume visitors could speak to both tributes if they wanted to. At least, I hoped that was the case. It was possible that Kurt was too upset to speak to Finn, but Kurt didn't seem like the type of person to let anger get in the way of last chances.

"Kurt…" I started, but I didn't know where to go from there. There was a palpable awkwardness in the room, and it wasn't entirely from the fact that I was going to be pitted against his step brother in the games. Kurt and I had hated each other before I met Rachel, mostly because district 12 wasn't big enough to contain two prima donnas like us. Though I no longer hated him the way that I did when I was younger, thanks to Rachel's influence, we still never quite saw eye to eye. Mostly it was because he thought I was a cold hard bitch, and I found him to be just downright bitchy. He was invaluable to district 12, but on a personal level, he was cattier than Santana, and more prim and proper than I could ever hope to be. Simply put; we clashed.

"That was quite a statement you made to your father," he said, tilting his head. "I do believe I overheard some of the Enforcers taking bets on when that throbbing vein in his forehead will spontaneously explode." I immediately laughed and had to cover my mouth with my hand to stifle it.

"The man is many years and many drinks overdue for a massive heart attack," I said.

"Still… that was very… brave of you. That's the second bravest thing you've done today."

"I think you're mistaking courage with shortsighted self indulgence."

"Don't sell yourself short, Quinn. It's not like we didn't… about your father… well, I knew. I mean, I didn't know, but… I knew. There was always something so heartbreaking about the way that your smile never quite reached your eyes," he smiled at me, and I had to blink a few times to stop the tears from forming at the corners of my eyes. "At least… not until you and Rachel became… acquainted. That's what made me realize that your insides weren't made entirely of ice. Or, at least, they had begun to melt. Look, I know we have never been anything close to what a sane person would call friends, but… I wanted to say… thank you. For what you did for Rachel. Please don't ever let anyone question your heart ever again, because what you did today proved that your heart is not made of ice, but gold."

"Kurt, I'm sorry about F-"

"Stop," he said quickly, resting his hand on my knee. "There's nothing you can say that will make either of us feel any better. Please. I promise you, no matter what happens, I will not hate you. I couldn't. Not someone who could do the thing you did."

"Kurt, I-"

"Quinn," he interrupted me, with a strong sense of seriousness and urgency in his voice. "Do what you have to do to make peace with yourself, because in the end you are the only person you have to answer to for your actions. And please believe me when I say that no matter what happens, I forgive you." A tear escaped the corner of my eye and I brushed it away quickly, unable to speak for fear that my voice would tremble. He took my hands in his, and waited until I looked him in the eye. "Quinn, I. Forgive. You. Don't forget that."

He rose from his seat, and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead before walking to the door. I stared at the floor, commanding myself not to cry from the gut-wrenching guilt that was crushing the life out of me. If Kurt said it, I believed it, but that wasn't the problem. If I had to kill Finn… how was I supposed to forgive myself? The monster within me thrashed and howled, demanding to be released as the convenient solution to this problem. I held my breath, and closed my eyes, devoting all of my strength to summoning the calm I had felt just hours earlier. The monster quailed and faded into silence, and I let the breath out slowly through my slightly parted lips.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Quinn?" Santana spat coldly, and I jumped out my seat in surprise as she entered the room and slammed the door behind her. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Why in the fuck would you do something so incredibly fucking stupid? This isn't something you do on a fucking whim!" She was almost shouting with anger, but I could see the redness about her eyes and cheeks; she had likely been crying moments before walking into the room. "Why the fuck would you volunteer for this? For her? You know what this means. You know what's going to happen now. You're just going to kill yourself over some fucking girl?!"

"What do you want me to say, Santana? I had to do it," I shot back, closing the gap between us. "And you know I did. What was I supposed to do?"

"What everyone else does! You thank God it wasn't you! Your chances aren't any better than hers, and you're going to get yourself killed voluntarily? If you wanted to kill yourself, you could at least have the dignity to do the job yourself instead of making some other fucking kid do it for you!" Santana's anger sparked my own temper; she knew damn well why I was doing this.

"It's not my fault that you can't handle it! I made my choice! It's not my fucking problem that you can't cope with it!"

"What… me? You think this is my problem? What happens if you win? What happens when you get to come back after all this? How the fuck are you going to look Rachel in the eye after that? Or Kurt? Or me?" she raised her head at me, then stomped off to the other side of the room. My silence made her tremble slightly; she thought she had won, but it was the same sort of hollow victory she felt whenever she knew she had won the battle but lost the war. I could see the pain and fear burning in her eyes as she searched my face for something; anything. "So that's it? You've got nothing to say for yourself now?"

I breathed in, bracing myself for the words that were about to come out of my mouth. In any other fight or any other instance… I would never say it. But right now, it was both the last thing she wanted to hear and the thing she needed to hear the most.

"You know exactly why I had to do this."

"Oh please, do enlighten me, Quinn."

"don't make me say it."

"No, please do. I'm intensely curious as to what would make you think I would make this stupid of a decision."

"You do understand. You understand perfectly," I said calmly, staring her down. "You understand because you'd do it for her, songbird, and don't you dare try to fucking deny it."

The silence that had descended upon the room could be easily mistaken for time itself coming to a screeching, grinding halt. Santana froze in place, but I could see the anger melt from her face instantly as it was replaced with the sort of all-encompassing pain that can only accompany the loss of something greater than yourself. Her nostrils flared as she fought back the flood of emotion that had erupted from within; she knew exactly what I meant, and it cut to the bone. For what felt like hours, we stared at each other, frozen like statues. Though her facial expression was stoic and cold, in her eyes I could see the weight of my words crashing down around her. When it became too difficult to bear, she looked away, blinking furiously at the tears that were already sneaking out of the corners of her eyes.

"I know why you're angry, Santana. With me... and with the world. But please, if this is the last time we ever speak," I walked slowly towards her, and I felt my expression soften with each step. "I don't want this to be how you remember it." She only a paused for a moment before lunging at me, and it wasn't until her arms were wrapped around my shoulders and her head was buried in my neck that I was sure that she wasn't going to attempt to strangle me with her bare hands instead of locking me in a hard embrace. My arms locked around her waist, and she stayed there for several moments, body trembling with the effort to stop herself from sobbing.

"I hate you so much right now," she whispered.

"I love you too, Santana. But please… you can't fault me for loving Rachel the way you loved her."

"I hate you."

"I know."

We stood there for a few moments more, and finally Santana loosened her grip, lifting her head so she could whisper in my ear.

"I love you too," she whispered. "Even though you don't fight fair."

She let me go, took a few steps back, and pushed a knuckle to the corner of each eye to wipe away the tears without smearing her makeup.

"I'd wish you luck, but I know you won't need it," she said quietly. "You've got your morning star."

"And someday the songbird will sing again," I said with a smile.

"I dare to dream," she said sadly, and gave my hand a gentle squeeze before turning to leave the room. As the door slid shut I wondered if Effie was going to ask me about that conversation; I knew that no one except her and I would understand it. Well, and one more person; wherever the songbird's muse had ended up. I hoped that Effie wouldn't ask me about it, because my nerves were beginning to fray and I didn't know if I could come up with a convincing answer that wasn't the entire truth. I began to pace back and forth, trying to come up with a convincing lie, but I was distracted by the fact that several minutes had passed without someone else walking through the door. I began to worry that this was it for my farewell party, and though I desperately didn't want to think about it, I couldn't avoid it; there was a possibility that Rachel wasn't going to be here.

I paced more frantically across the small room, my mind racing. What would I even say to her if she did walk through that door? What if she was angry? I could face Santana's fury and my father's rage without a moment's hesitation, but Rachel didn't get angry; she just hurt. Oh God, she must be hurting now. I reviewed my reasoning for taking her place, and though I knew I did it out of love, I couldn't control the way Rachel felt. What if she would never forgive me? What if she was too upset to come? What if she came to tell me not to come back to her if I returned? What if she told me she couldn't love the monster who could win the games, so I was better off dying in them? What if I had to explain all of this to Effie who was assuredly going to be completely and utterly lost by half of the conversations that had just taken place? What if I just cut my throat with that steak knife that was sitting in a cutlery block next to the catering table at the far end of this room?

"I'm sorry, they had trouble getting my mic turned on."

What if she was right there in front of me, right now?

For a moment I stared in stunned disbelief, scared to death that I had finally snapped under the pressure and that this was all some sort of psychotic episode. She lingered in the doorway, straightening her black dress and fidgeting with a small, white flower that she held in her hands. Until that moment, I never truly understood what the word 'speechless' meant.

"… we've been in makeup for hours… that is, Santana, Kurt and I. We missed the rest of the Reaping ceremonies because of it. So, tomorrow's opening ceremony will be a complete surprise to us," she stumbled with her words as I stared in silence; in that single critical moment, I had forgotten the entire english language. She slowly made her way over to me with her eyes cast downward, not looking up until she was only a few inches from me. She slowly lifted her head, and reached out to tuck my hair behind my left ear. Carefully, she tucked a delicate, white flower there, pinning it in place with one of the bobby pins I had been using to keep my bangs in place. "It's a gardenia… which… you probably knew that. I figured you would look pretty with something to compliment your eyes."

The entire english language continued to allude me as I desperately tried to think of something... anything to say. I bit my lip apprehensively, and I gently took her hands in mine, holding them between us at our waists.

_I love you,_ my brain screamed at me, though no words were making it to my mouth. _I love you more than I could ever say. I would write your names in the stars, my darling. If you asked me to tell the world that I loved you, I'd whisper it in your ear, because you are the world to me. I am unquestionably, undoubtably, and forever yours. I love you. I love you. To the ends of the universe and back._

"Rachel-" I said as my vocal chords finally caught up to my thoughts, but she stopped me by pressing two fingers to my lips.

"Don't," she said softly, caressing my cheek. "Don't speak… because anything you say is going to sound like goodbye."

I couldn't stop it. The tears rolled down my cheeks as she sank into my chest, wrapping her arms around me so tightly it squeezed out a wracked sob from within me. Her nails dug into my back and I held her as tightly as I could, afraid that I would fall through the earth the second she let go. She was everything to me; and this might be the last time… the last time we'd ever see each other. This could be goodbye, no matter how much she didn't want to hear it. I pushed her away, gently, so I could look at her face, and she blinked out a few tears when her eyes met mine.

_You know what you have to do._

I cradled her jaw in my hands, leaning my face closer to hers. She gasped, searching my face for an explanation, but she did not pull away.

"What are you doing!?" she whispered fearfully, eyes quickly darting around the room.

"If I'm going to die," I said loudly and clearly, to ensure that not a single word was missed, "I want the world to know what I died for."

And I pressed my lips to hers; gently at first, but our kisses quickly grew in intensity. Her arms snaked up my back to my back and my hair, and my hands slid down to the small of her back to pull her closer to me. We kissed with a passion that burned so bright, I was sure that I could feel its' light within my soul. After a few moments she pulled away, gasping for air, tears still streaming down her face. She stepped away from me for just a moment, unclasping the golden star pendant from around her neck. I started to shake my head but she was already clasping it around my neck, straightening the pendant between my collar bones with such tenderness and care that I couldn't bring myself to object.

"No matter where you are, or how far away hope me seem to be, just remember that I am with you," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. She pressed a single finger to the star pendant, indenting it into my skin. "like the morning star in the sky." I was beginning to sob, and she kissed me again, with the same hunger with which we had kissed before. When her lips left mine I didn't want to open my eyes, in hopes that I could make this moment linger on forever. "Someday, when I'm awfully low, when the world is cold… I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight."

She left a final kiss on my cheek and walked away, only glancing back once before she disappeared through the door.

_Lovely, never, ever change, keep that breathless charm. Won't you please arrange it? Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight._

_ And I will always remember you, the way you looked tonight._

**Author's notes:** Glee and the Hunger Games are property of their respective producers and creators. The song in this chapter is The Way You Look Tonight, sung by Fred Astaire and written by Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields.

As a thank you for all of the reviews, follows, favs, and encouragement I've received while writing this fan fiction, I am bringing you chapter four several days early. Instead of one long chapter, I'm going to try and bring you two or three longish chapters to keep the story moving along at a reasonable pace. I have every intention of finishing chapter 5 before Sunday, and possibly chapter 6 if I have enough time and you guys keep viewing, reviewing, favoriting, and following. Seriously, thank you all. I truly appreciate all of you who are reading this fic. I promised angst, and I hope I delivered. Enjoy


	5. Chapter 5: The Lion Hearted Girl

As I walked out towards the living quarters on the train, my head spun and reeled from the war that raged within me. I knew that Effie would be waiting for me in my room; after the stunts I just pulled, there was no way that she wouldn't have something to say about it. On one hand, my chest was swelling with pride; I had not compromised, and I had given no quarter; no mercy, no surrender. I had shown the world myself, nothing more and nothing less. All of Panem would know who I was, what I was, what I stood for, and what I was willing to die for. If nothing else, I had myself.

On the other hand, I had toed the line between rebellious speech and treason several times. I had told my father to go fuck himself on national television. I had made a reference to something that I would, under absolutely no circumstances, be willing to speak about to a stranger, and I had proclaimed to the world that I was in love with a girl and I didn't care who knew it. In fact, I wanted the world to know. In the back of my mind, a tiny voice implied that my actions may have put Rachel in danger, but I focused all of my energy on ignoring that voice so I wouldn't fall to the ground consumed with guilt and anger with myself for being unable to control my impulsive nature. I didn't know what the Capitol's views were on such things; anything out of the ordinary was considered blasphemous in District 12 outside of a small collection of the younger residents. I knew that the Capitol was known for embracing all things unusual, queer, self indulgent, and excessive, but I had no idea how my farewell to Rachel would be received.

I swallowed hard, preparing myself for Effie's inevitable annoyance, distress, or outright anger at my actions. She might scold me; she would definitely lecture. She might even give up on me, instead choosing to focus on Finn, the politically correct hero archetype. Finn was noble, strong, loyal, and uncontroversial. If I were Effie, I would be betting on him, not the girl who just dropped several 'F-bombs' on national television. I had a feeling that Santana's words would be forgiven as an emotional outburst, but I couldn't claim that; I knew exactly what I was doing, and I did it without hesitation or shame.

As I opened the door to my room, I braced myself for whatever punishment I was about to receive. If there were Enforcers on the other side of that door ready to execute me on sight, I can't say that I would have been surprised.

Much to my temporary relief, there were no guns pointed at my head as I entered. The only person in the room was Effie, and she was standing in front of the window with her back to me. For several moments I stood in the center of the room, unsure of what to say or what to do. The silence was pierced suddenly and violently by the train's whistle, and I suppressed the urge to cover my ears and jump in fright from the shrill wail. The train bucked beneath my feet and I stumbled a bit, but Effie maintained her posture; she clearly had a great deal of experience with maintaining appearances on moving vehicles.

"That was quite a speech you made for your father, Quinn," Effie said without turning around. I stiffened, still nervous that armed gunmen were going to burst through the door at any moment and punish me for my blatant disregard for proper etiquette.

"Yes, well… I couldn't leave without letting him know exactly what I thought of him," I said unsteadily.

"And your friend Santana is quite the firecracker."

"She means no harm."

"I'm sure you're wondering if Kurt only came to speak to you. I can tell you that he didn't."

"I'm… glad."

"That last part, though, with Rachel. That was… something else," she spoke in a completely even tone, which was so unnerving it actually made me physically uncomfortable. She still hadn't turned to face me, and I could feel the panic and fear begin to rise in my chest. I stuffed it down, desperate to maintain my composure.

"Effie, I-"

"Do you remember when I said that we'll work on your character in post production?" Effie interrupted me.

"Yes."

"I know I didn't explain much at the time, but I'm sure you can figure out what I meant. The Games are equal parts strategy and skill; part of the strategy aspect is creating a character for the tribute to play that best demonstrates their strengths and weaknesses, in order to gain more public support and sponsor support. Usually, we have these roles written for the tributes before they say their goodbyes, and they are briefed on the character they are supposed to portray from the moment they step out of their rooms after the prep period. This is a painstakingly complicated and delicate process, obviously; usually the trainers work in conjunction with the managers to best sculpt the tribute into the character that will give them the best possible advantage in the Games. That is… that's how we usually do it. For some reason, I had a feeling about you… call it a hunch. I told the producers and your trainer to take their character sheets for you and tear them up, because I had a feeling that if you were left to your own devices, you'd bring out a better character than we could ever write," she paused, turning her head so I could see her face in profile against the light of the window. "…and you certainly did give us a character that no one would have ever written."

I closed my eyes and hung my head slightly in guilt.

"Effie, I'm sorry-" I began to say, but she held up her hand sharply and I closed my mouth immediately. This was it, I suppose. This is where she's going to tell me how completely and utterly I fucked up.

"Quinn, let me ask you something," she said softly. "Why did you say the things that you said?"

"Well… I decided that if I have to go through with this… compete in the Games… if I'm going to die, I want to die as myself. At least… then I have that," I answered, but I was surprised that I was being so blatantly honest. Effie took this in for a moment, nodding her head slowly in consideration.

"Then I have just one thing to say to you Quinn," she said, turning towards me. "Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being honest, because I couldn't possibly be happier with you right now."

"But I… wait… what?" I stuttered, waiting for the punchline.

"You were perfect. Absolutely amazing. I don't know how we're join to get Finn up to speed with you in popularity, but we'll figure it out somehow. Though the-"

"You liked it?" I managed to stammer out.

"Oh, yes. God yes. Quinn… you just don't get these sorts of stories very often in the Games. Sure, you have the legacy families with their pride and glory, and you do get the occasional sibling volunteer… but to have a lover volunteer in their lover's place… to put it bluntly, you just can't make that up. You couldn't write that. It has to be real. This is a first for the Hunger Games, and the producers are already buzzing around their offices like honeybees in excitement over the prospect of getting to tell your story. They're walking on sunshine, they've got rainbows shooting out of every orifice; and you're from District 12! The district that almost never gets a worthy contender, let alone headlining tributes! Quinn, do you realize what you've done?"

"I… well, no, I suppose I don't," I said truthfully.

"You've made yourself a hero. You've exemplified the things that the people in the Capitol long to see and feel; love, honor, bravery, and sacrifice. They love it. The Games aren't just a formality in the Capitol; they're entertainment. I realize that you'll probably never see that as anything other than horrible and brutal, but it's just the way things are. The Capitol wants a political statement; the world wants a show. And by God, you're going to give it to them."

"But Santana-"

"Don't worry about that. We can edit out the inflammatory parts, and I can assure you that she is safe. You have my word. What we're interested in here is things that show the world who you really are, and what you are is a hero, Quinn. A medieval knight. A gentleman, if you'll forgive the term," Effie walked to me and gave me a quick yet friendly hug, which caught me so off guard I couldn't even move my arms to return the gesture. "I know you don't think much of me; no one in District 12 does. I know what I do, and I am not denying that what I do results in fatalities. However, I'd like to think that though I represent something dark, the work I do is something good. It is my job to prepare, promote, and guide my tributes as well as I can; everything after that is up to them. I didn't design the system; I just have my place in it. And if you can only like me because you've somehow found some sympathy for the devil, that's fine; I have made peace with that. But Quinn… you are the tribute I hoped for, and that I never thought I'd find; you are the underdog. The District 12 tribute with something to die for, but something far more important to live for. And though it's probably little comfort, I will say that I will do everything that I can to help you have the best possible chance of returning home to Rachel again."

"I… I don't know what to say," I said softly.

"You don't need to say anything. I just wanted to make sure we understood each other's intentions; well, as best as we can in such a short time," Effie sighed a little, and I realized that in that moment I went from regarding her as a reluctant acquaintance to a desirable ally, and maybe… just maybe...

"In another life maybe we could have been good friends."

"I wouldn't completely dismiss that possibility; if you win the games, another life will begin for you," Effie smiled warmly, then straightened out her dress and gloves. "You and Finn are both strong, commercial, and deserving candidates… but if you can forgive me for being only human… I am rooting for you. Panem may see you as a character, but I see you as a living and breathing human being… and I'd like to see you on the victor's stand with the woman you loved enough to put yourself through this hell," she walked towards the door, but lingered in the doorway for a few moments. "This is it for a while; you have time to recover and rest. I recommend you-"

"Rachel said that she didn't get to see the rest of the Reaping ceremony," I said abruptly. "I thought that everyone was required to watch the broadcast of it." The thought had been nagging me since Rachel had said it; things were not going according to plan this year in more ways than usual, and if there's one thing I knew, it's that the Capitol hates it when things aren't going according to plan. Sudden changes in the games usually meant that something big was brewing just beneath the surface, and the Capitol needed a chance to smother the embers before they grew into a flame. Something was wrong; and I was determined to find out what.

I saw something flicker behind Effie's eyes for a fraction of a second, and her eye twitched just a little bit at one corner. She opened her mouth slightly, and I could see that she was choosing her next words very carefully.

"Yes, usually that's the case. Usually the broadcast is cut and ready to go before the tributes even get a chance to situate themselves on the train. By the time District 12's reaping is over, all the other district's tapes have been edited and put together for the summary broadcast. Usually…" Effie averted her eyes from mine. I leaned my head to the side to follow her gaze, still trying to figure out what piece of information she was hiding from me. "… but this year, no one saw anyone else's reaping ceremony; only the recap of their own. The full ceremonies aren't going to be played until tomorrow morning; everyone will see them at the same time. They are going to air immediately before the opening ceremony for the games, and the opening ceremony is going to be live… as usual. But you're right, this isn't the way things are usually done."

"So… what changed? Why are they doing things differently this year?"

"I received a message from production that there was some trouble with editing or sound sync…" Effie was leaning back through the door way, glancing back and forth down the hallway. At first I thought she was looking for an excuse to leave, but then she leaned back through the door, talking a little louder than she needed to. "…nothing to worry about of course, they're probably just rolling out some new technology to use for the broadcasts this year; you know those editors, they never met a deadline they _could_ meet!" she laughed as she slid the door closed, holding the handle shut as she did so. It suddenly occurred to me that the tribute's rooms were, supposedly, the only places without microphones and cameras. The fact that Effie was holding the door shut was a strong piece of supporting evidence of this, but I couldn't help but lower my voice to a low whisper anyway.

"Is it because of me?" I asked, and Effie shook her head.

"No…well, you are a part of it, but it's not unusual to have delays in editing when there are volunteers. They like to play up the drama. But this is… an unusually long delay," she bit her lip thoughtfully, leaning her back against the door to ensure that it stayed shut even though it was clearly locked.

"So there's something that they didn't want us to see."

"Or someone. Quinn, I want you to listen to me very, very carefully," Effie's voice was filled with both urgency and hesitation, and I could see that she had many things that she wanted to tell me, but she was unsure of how much she could, or should, say. "Nothing that I tell you right now is to leave this room. Understood?"

"Yes, I promise."

"Good girl. Now… God I don't know why I'm telling you this-"

"If we're going to work together, we're going to have to trust each other," I said quickly, not wanting her to lose her nerve. Curiosity had a strangle hold on me, and I had to know what was going on; I was about to be thrown into a fight for my life. If Effie had any information that could help me stay one step ahead of the game, I was determined to get it out of her. "And though no one is more surprised by this than I am, I trust you. But you're the one with the real power here, so the real question is, do you trust me?"

"Something happened in district 4," Effie said evenly. "that stirred up chatter amongst the game masters and legacies. Something about one of the tributes there. I don't have access to exact information, but I do know it was in district 4 because that's where we were when they announced the broadcasting delay. I didn't think much of it until we were wrapping up your reaping ceremony… and I received another message saying that the broadcast of the reaping ceremony would be airing immediately before the live opening ceremonies. I was told that they were trying something new this year; experimenting with increasing the suspense and excitement levels of the tribute reveals."

"You don't believe a word of it, do you?"

"We have a saying in this business; "when in doubt, edit it out." The thing is… they're not shortening the ceremonies any more than they normally do for run-time. There's no additional editing going on, because the block of time they set aside tomorrow for the reaping broadcast is about the same as it always is."

"So what are they trying to keep a secret then?"

"There are three districts that are getting a ridiculous amount of attention from the powers-that-be; District 4, District 12, and District 2."

"All of those are obvious-"

"Not district 2."

"But 2 is a career district. It gets attention every year."

"Not like this. Not when there are no legacy tributes competing," Effie seemed to be taking shorter and shorter breaths, and I realized that she was genuinely afraid to be having this conversation. "That's the strange part; while I may not have access to the broadcast itself, I do some access to the information channels from other districts and from the game master's committee. Quinn; something weird is going on, and I am afraid to say that I believe that you are inadvertently a part of it. The tribute from district 4 started up a large amount of chatter, but when district 12's reaping ceremony was completed… the game master's channels went insane, as well as district 2's. I realize that it seems petty compared to competing in the games… but you cannot imagine how anxious I am about what is going to pop up on that broadcast tomorrow."

"You honestly don't know? I thought the production teams all knew what was going on."

"You're right," Effie held her breath for a moment, eyes darting towards the windows on the opposite side of the room nervously. "Usually. But not this time. All I know is this; one of the tributes from district 4 is likely a person of some interest to the game masters; could be a legacy, could be a suspected rebel… but it's something political, that's for sure. Whoever this person is, they are tied to district 12 somehow… though I can't imagine how. The part that is bothering me the most, though, is that there is a lot of talk about how district 2 is lacking a legacy tribute; it's almost as if they were expecting one and didn't get what they were anticipating. I don't know, anything more than that is just speculation. But I can say this for certain: there is a common thread connecting districts 2, 4, and 12 together, and I hope to God we can come up with a game plan between breakfast and brunch, because that's all the time we're going to have to prepare once we learn what that thread is."

"You're starting to sound a bit paranoid, Effie," I joked, but I was having a hard time suppressing my own nervousness; Effie was right to be fearful; we were flying blind in a snowstorm.

"Trust me Quinn, when you work for the Capitol you quickly learn that a teaspoon of paranoia can neutralize the teaspoon of poison in your morning coffee."

"I'm glad I only drink tea," I laughed a little, but I felt a knot form in my stomach as I began to realize that Effie didn't seem to be joking. "So what do I do for now?"

"The only thing you can do; completely forget we had this conversation until tomorrow, and prepare yourself as best you can for the day ahead of us. I recommend sleeping as much as you can now; many tributes fall victim to sleep deprivation once the training and the Games begin. The opening ceremony is tomorrow; you will be woken up very early by the stylists, who will prep you and give you further instructions on how to best conduct yourself during the opening ceremonies… though clearly, you've got the last part covered. Once you're out of prep, you will join Sue, Finn and I for breakfast so we can go over the tapes for the Reaping ceremonies, so you can at least get a glimpse of your competition before you're standing shoulder to shoulder with them."

"Thank you, Effie. For having faith in me," I said truthfully.

"Same to you, Quinn," she popped the door open, quickly glancing down each hallway again. "Remember; the world is watching."

"And tomorrow we'll be watching the world."

"I hope to God that He's watching too."

"Well then I hope it rains."

"What?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it. Goodnight," I closed and locked the door, staring out the window on the opposite side of the room. I slowly became more aware of the clicking of the tracks beneath my feet and the soft rocking of the train car; I was suddenly aware of how strange it was to be standing in a furnished room that was moving back and forth a little like a boat on the lake. I decided that I liked the sensation; it was strange and new, but it was one of the few things I had encountered today that I could find comfort in.

"It's almost like being rocked to sleep," I laughed to myself as I laid on my bed, staring out the window at the pitch black sky; silhouettes of trees and mountains danced across the window like shadows in the fog. They weren't the trees I knew from home, though; they weren't pines. Perhaps oak. They were large and thick, but not head-spinningly tall like the pine and redwood trees I had grown to love in my forest outside of district 12. For a second I felt a strange sense of distance; this was the farthest from home I had ever been, and I was moving farther away by the moment. I laughed bitterly; I suppose, in a way… I got what I wanted. I was finally free of district 12… though god only knows that things didn't go according to plan.

It seemed like almost nothing was going according to anyone's plan lately. I thought about my conversation with Effie earlier, but a dull migraine was beginning to throb behind my eyes and I decided that I had plenty of time to be paranoid in the morning. It wasn't until I surrendered to the idea of sleep that I realized just how truly exhausted I was; my limbs felt dead against the soft mattress, and my mind was gently floating into a fog as my eyes began to shut themselves against my feeble insistence that they focus on the clock on the bedside table. I instead caught my reflection in the small mirror beside the clock, and I realized that the gardenia was still tucked behind my ear. I gently laid it on the bedside stand, inhaling it's sweet fragrance deeply before laying back down on the irresistibly soft mattress.

I pressed the tiny golden star between my fingers, leaving a faint imprint in the pad of my thumb. I knew I should feel something… but my body and mind were numb from overstimulation and exhaustion. I gently kissed the star, deciding that I would get back to the whole 'feelings and emotions' thing in the morning.

_The front door swung open so violently, the glass inlay shattered across the porch as the door slammed against the front wall of the house. The hinges creaked in protest, and the door tried to swing back, but it was slammed open again and the hinges bent enough to prevent the door from closing on its' own. The shattered glass crunched beneath my father's boots as he made his way toward me, rolling up the sleeves on his dress shirt._

_ "Run," I hissed at Rachel, pushing her roughly towards the front gate. "Just run!"_

_ "I'm not leaving you-"_

_ "Rachel, we don't have time to argue, just go. If I leave with you he'll find us both-"_

_ "I won't let him hurt you again!"_

_ "And I won't let him kill you! Run, find Santana and tell her I'll follow when I can! GO, NOW!" I shoved Rachel through the gate and locked it behind her. She glanced back for only a few moments, and I breathed a sigh of relief as she bolted for the town before my father was close enough to see who she was. I could feel his presence looming towards me, his breath ragged and his gait unsteady._

_ "Into the house, now," he growled, pointing a finger towards the front door. I had flinched when he raised his hand; I was expecting it to connect with my face. I walked stiffly back towards the house, paralyzed with terror as I gingerly stepped through the glass that now glistened in the moonlight on the floor of the porch. As I walked through the entryway, I saw my mother standing at the first floor landing. A brief glimmer of hope was growing in me; witnesses would keep me safe. Surely my own mother wouldn't stand and watch?_

_ The front door slammed shut behind me, sending even more glass flying across the mahogany floors of the entryway. I stared at my mother, silently begging her not to leave; but the moment she looked at my father standing behind me, she turned into the master bedroom. With a soft yet audible click, the lock on the door slid shut._

_ "Look at that, you sinful whore, your mother can't even look at you! Doing those… unspeakable things with another woman; you disgust me. You shame her. You will tell me the name of the treacherous harlot who would bring my daughter to commit such horrific sins," the thick stench of liquor hung all around the house and my father himself. He grabbed me by the shoulders roughly and turned me around, digging his fingers into my shoulders. I winced, but I didn't cry; crying only made him angrier. If I could keep it together I might get away with only a few conspicuous bruises on my arms and shoulders; he almost never touched my face. He didn't want to damage his prized possession in any way that would hurt it's resale value, after all._

_ That was my mistake, I think; assuming he valued me in any way at all._

_ "I don't know what you're talking about-" my back slammed against the doors to the study; it was just hard enough of a push to knock the breath out of my chest, and I struggled to speak again. _

_ "Liar!" he raged. "You would dare place your lips on those of another woman, and then lie about it? I saw what you were doing, you horrible child! Tell me who she was! I will not suffer this affront to God in my city! I will not have this moral corruption in my home! Repent, so that you may be saved, Quinn! Tell me her name!"_

_ He pinned me to the doors, one hand against my shoulder and the other hand around my neck; the longer I delayed in answering him, the tighter his hand closed around my throat. I opened my mouth to protest; to beg. But no words would come out. I was frozen in fear, and could only tremble in his grip. I was powerless._

_ I was always powerless._

_ "Do you think you're going to be able to protect her from me!?" he slammed his fist against the door next to my head, and I heard the wood begin to splinter. My confidence was slipping away; would he do it? Is this finally the day that he's going to stop holding back? "I will find her, Quinn, and when I do I will make her feel the weight of her sins of the flesh! Do you hear me, you stupid girl? You cannot protect her, and you can only protect yourself if you repent!" His fist connected with the door again, this time closer to my shoulder. I flinched and pulled away from the door, which only enraged him further; he slammed me back into the door by the neck, tightening his grip._

_ So this is it. This is how I'm going to die._

_ "Tell me who she is, Quinn! Repent and save your immortal soul!"_

_ I closed my eyes, breathing in as much as I could through my father's hand around my throat._

_ Forgive me, Rachel._

_ "N-No..." I choked out, and in the next moment I felt time stop._

_ I remember his hand colliding with the side of my head, and being thrown into the wall on the opposite end of the hallway. I remember the hit that split my lip, and another that connected with my nose. I already had blood blurring my vision from the cut across my brow; now it was all I could taste and smell, too. When I was thrown on the ground, a sickening crunch made the world go silent for a moment; my wrist felt like it shattered like the glass in the front door. I curled around myself, unable to move; all I could see was blood, and the silhouette of my father walking away from me. I shuddered and tried not to choke or cry; when I cried it only made him come back for more. I held my breath and trembled; I closed my eyes and tried not to swallow the blood in my mouth, letting it drip onto the floor beneath me. I silently begged Rachel to forgive me for trying to protect her; I prayed that she could forgive me if I failed. I wondered if my father was going to kill me._

_ When my eyes fell upon the hickory walking stick that my father was now turning over in his hands, I knew he was certainly going to try._

_ My head fell forward for a second as I tried to push myself up off the floor, and my vision blurred from the excruciating pain in my wrist. My vision cleared up just in time to see the walking stick brought down with a sickening crack against my side. I felt the ribs crack and fracture; I couldn't stop myself. I cried out in pain, trying to push myself up from the floor; I couldn't. Things were starting to melt together; all I could feel was unbelievable pain. My ears were ringing violently, but the sound was beginning to fade to nothing, and my vision began to narrow as I felt another blow connect with the back of my skull. My body collapsed against the floor, completely limp and motionless. I felt one more hit collide with my stomach and I coughed up a mouthful of blood, but the pain was beginning to subside. I could see my father screaming at me… but I couldn't hear his voice. I saw him pull me up by my shirt and try to get me to stand, but I couldn't feel my body move. I couldn't even see his face anymore. Everything was just… red._

_ This is how it feels to die..._

_ I'm so sorry Rachel. I'm so sorry. Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me-_

"RACHEL!" I woke up screaming, with the scent of blood in my nostrils and the taste of it on my tongue. My stomach was filled with it; my vision was blurred from it dripping across my eyes. I staggered blindly to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet to throw up. I let myself slide to the cool, tile floor, and the smell of soap began to fill my nostrils; my vision cleared. I realized that I definitely hadn't thrown up any blood; though I immediately regretted investigating the matter when it almost made me throw up again. I laughed a little out of relief and in spite of myself, and dragged myself up off the floor to look at my reflection in the mirror.

"Some dream," I said to my reflection, running my fingers across my brow and my lip, "but just a dream."

"Sweetheart if that's what you call a dream, I can't imagine how horrible your nightmares must be-"

"What the fuck!" I screamed in surprise, slamming my back against the wall opposite of the door. The last thing I wanted to hear was another voice in my (supposedly locked) bedroom. Especially a male voice. The voice's owner popped his head around the doorway, waving and smiling like there was nothing bizarre about his presence here.

"No no no no no! Quinn! It's alright! I'm your-AUGH-" his sentence was cut short as I tackled him to the floor, pinning down his arms.

"It's not a good idea to startle me," I hissed through my teeth, but relaxed slightly when I realized that he had gone limp and was making sure to not give me the impression that he was going to fight back in any way.

"Noted," he said calmly.

"Especially while trespassing in my quarters. Who are you? How did you get in here?"

"I am your stylist. I have a key. See?" he jingled the key around in his hand without lifting his arm off the floor, since I still had him pinned at the elbows. Cautiously I stood up, and crawled off of him. "I am truly sorry that I startled you… but I hope you won't hold it against me since we will be working very closely together. My name is Blaine," he very slowly lifted his right arm without getting up from the floor, and I shook his hand before using it to help him up. He wasn't particularly tall; we were more or less at eye level with one another. His hair was slathered in some sort of product that kept it stiff and motionless even during our scuffle, and only his bow tie seemed to be moved out of place. His suit was so tightly tailored that I imagined it was difficult for him to move about in it. His hands were gloved, and he had a ridiculously prim manner about him that reminded me a bit of Kurt. I had to suppress a small, snorted laugh at the thought.

"I… I'm sorry. Are you hurt?" I asked. He dusted off his coat and straightened his bow tie with the same sort of obnoxious propriety that my mother was so well known for.

"Just my pride, sweetheart, just my pride. You're a lot stronger than you look, I can tell you that," he gestured for me to sit down in the sitting area, and I saw that he had brought several trunks of what I assumed would be clothing, makeup, and accessories. On the table sat a delicate, bone-china tea set, and he gingerly poured a cup for both of us before taking the seat across from me.

"A man of refined taste, I see," I said a little snidely; the tea was a brand I recognized as one that my mother liked very much.

"Oh, yes! Why thank you, I do try," Blaine said brightly; it was unclear whether he was intentionally ignoring my rudeness, or he was genuinely oblivious to it. He stirred a lump of sugar into his tea with a tiny spoon, pinky finger extended; as far as first impressions go, Blaine was completely and utterly blowing it. He had scared me half to death, and he reminded me of my mother; I sneered at him behind my teacup, knowing that he had little chance of winning me over. To many of my friends, Effie was the epitome of Capitol indulgence, but I was able to see her as a human being. Blaine, on the other hand, was quickly meeting and exceeding my expectations of what the Capitol fashion snobs would be like; prim, proper, and socially dense. It was something that I had been noticing for many years in my limited interaction with Capitol residents; they were people who knew everything about nothing and nothing about anything… anything that matters, anyway.

"Just please tell me you're not going to put us in coal miner's outfits," I sighed. Blaine laughed and shook his head.

"What? Oh dear God, no. I know we've just met, Quinn, but please give me a little more credit than that," he placed his cup down and pulled out a leather-bound sketchbook from his bag that sat beside his chair on the floor.

"I don't know, Blaine. Should I trust the judgement of a man who's wearing eyeliner and bronzer?" I didn't make any effort to conceal my sneer this time.

"If I can trust the judgement of a girl who told her father to go fuck himself on national television before outing herself and her lover to the entire nation, yes," he shot back, a small smile creeping up the sides of his lips. I lifted my chin slightly; it seems that in Kurt's absence, I would have a new verbal sparring partner to sharpen my claws on.

"Forgive me for being skeptical, Blaine, but you're wearing tweed and a bow tie."

"With that hair cut, you and I would be perfect for a 1950's period piece. Glass houses and stones and all that jazz, sweetheart. Anyway, we can spar later; we have business to attend to. I need to get you and Finn ready to go for your big reveal. Believe it or not, Effie chose me personally to design your costumes for the opening games… I know you trust her judgement, so I'm asking you to trust mine."

"We'll see," I said coolly. Maybe it's because I was running out of trust to give. Maybe I was having the same problem I had with Kurt; the room definitely wasn't big enough for both of our egos. Or maybe my instincts were just telling me to be careful.

Maybe I just thought his bow tie was really, really stupid.

"If we can't like each other, Quinn, can we be professional?" he asked finally. I mulled it over for a moment, then nodded.

"Professional is good. I can do that," I said, and he smiled, flipping open his sketchbook on his lap.

"Excellent. Now, I understand your concern about the opening ceremony costumes, since many in the past have been gimmicky and tacky at best, and horribly insulting at the worst. To answer your question, no: you and Finn will not be in miner's outfits. That's what everyone else does; they just take the district's industry and use it as the centerpiece for their costume. I Think it's tacky and boring, so we're absolutely not going to do that."

"You do have to make us identifiable, though. It's part of the rules that our costumes have to represent the district."

"Oh, of course. But the rule says 'the district' not 'the district's industry.' Here, look," he opened a page of jewelry design; it was a beautiful diamond necklace with a strong art nouveau feel to it. A few variations of earrings had been drawn around it, some long and ornate, others simple diamond studs with only a little bit of flair. The diamonds were occasionally accented with small pieces of coal, similar to our district pins. On the opposite page, a cane with a lump of coal embedded into a small orb of glass was sketched out, along with several different diamond and coal cufflinks and tie clips. I smiled broadly at the designs.

"These are… these are good," I said. He flipped the page over to reveal drawings of district 12: the market district, the forests beyond the fence, the raging, molten furnaces of the coal mines and forges, and various plants and animals native to the area. There were several pages of notes scribbled in frantic, yet pretty, handwriting: one section talked about how the furnaces can be seen at all times through the morning fog, the dark of night, or the midday sun. Another talked about how the air always smelled like a fireplace was burning, and how during the spring months the field exploded with wild berries and poppies. I flipped through the pages and pages of notes and drawings, astounded at the amount of research Blaine had invested in his project.

"I did some research, once I was selected as a stylist for this district," Blaine explained. "I wanted to see what was iconic about it; what would be recognizable but not cliche. I think I may have gone a little overboard… but it's better to be over-prepared than to get caught unawares. This is my first time designing for the Games… which I'm sure you already guessed."

"I can see why Effie selected you," I said truthfully. "Alright, so what have you got planned for me then?" Blaine smiled and flipped a few pages. I gasped; I couldn't help myself. It was beautiful.

"Is this really what it looks like?" I asked, gently touching the page. The dress had a corseted top that laced up the sides and the back. A layer of black brocade lace covered the shimmering orange and red fabric under it in a way that reminded me of embers burning in a pile of coal. The length of the dress was black, but slits in the fabric revealed a slip that was also red and orange. The hem had more sheer fabric, and beneath the dress I could see a pair of simple, smart, and sharp black heels with a small, diamond embellishment over the ankle strap. I poured over the drawing, taking in every inch of it. On the opposite page was Finn's suit; it was an English cut suit, and the linings of the flaps were cut from the same fabric as the red and orange slip of my dress. The suit and shirt were sheer black, but the tie was red and orange, and the clip a diamond pick-axe. It was so simple and elegant, yet representative of our district, that I was actually a little moved by Blaine's effort. I had decided that I didn't have to like his personality and mannerisms, but I supposed I could like him as a human being.

"This is it. All of it. It's in that box right there, actually. My assistants are fitting Finn for the suit right now, but I'd like to ask your permission to fit the dress to you personally. Would that be alright with you, Quinn? If not, I can have my female assistants do the adjustments."

"No, that's alright. I can see what this means to you, go ahead," I said, slowly closing the leather-bound book.

"Thank you Quinn. Oh, and don't worry. You aren't my type anyway," he said with a groan-worthy wink. I rolled my eyes.

"No man is my type. They've got curves in all the wrong places and they stick out where I don't want them to," I said, and Blaine laughed, much to my surprise.

"Ah, well; you and I will have to agree to disagree on that one, sweetheart. I would say the same thing about women," he flipped the lid of the trunk open, revealing the dress in its' clear protective covering. A few moments passed as he pulled all of the costume's components from the trunk and began taking measurements, making little notes to himself with a pen on the back of his left hand.

"Ahh… wait. What?" I mused aloud while mentally reviewing his statement. Suddenly, it clicked into place. "Oh. Oooohhhh. Well… it's nice to know I'm not the only one."

"Believe me sweetheart, if you were you'd be dead. But the Capitol does have some redeeming qualities; this happens to be one of them. The pursuit of pleasure cannot be hindered by pesky annoyances like religion and binary biology… sorry, didn't mean to poke you there with that pin. Let's see… looks like I was right on the money when I hemmed the dress earlier. There's just one more thing we need to address. Your hair," he began to run his fingers through it, and I sighed; I knew it was coming.

"I like the length… it's just a part of me I don't want to lose," I said. Blaine nodded thoughtfully, but I could tell that he wasn't going to agree with me.

"Yes, it's pretty and feminine, but it's also impractical and dated. It makes you look like your father's daughter, if you'll forgive the reference… I want to show you something," he opened the sketchbook again, flipping to one of the last pages. He flipped the book around for me to see, and I tilted my head in confusion.

"It's a lion with a mane..?"

"Did you know that district 12 is the only place in Panem with mountain lions? It's true. I was surprised that people in district 12 seem to be oblivious to that, but then again information doesn't travel too freely between districts. But in the Capitol and in a few other districts… everyone knows that district 12 is where sleeping beasts lay. And you don't want to wake them up."

"Mountain lions don't have manes… do they?"

"No, this isn't a mountain lion; this one's from a far away place called Africa. It's not exactly native to district 12, but… it did give me an idea. Here," he flipped the page again, revealing a hairstyle that appeared to be created with a razor blade. The hair was shoulder length, but had been styled into spikes and layered outward to give a sharp appearance. I raised my eyebrows; it was quite bold. "This is what I had in mind. It's just long enough to pull back for when you get into the arena; it will be harder to grab or pull, and easier to manage. I know you want to keep yourself together as much as possible… but sometimes you need to let go of yourself to become yourself again. If that makes sense." He placed the book down on the table and pulled out a small leather bag from the box, and opened it to reveal a pair of silver barber's scissors and various other barber's tools. He tied my ponytail off a little below the shoulders, and placed the scissors in my hand.

"Do I have a choice?" I asked.

"Absolutely. But if you choose to do this, I feel like it would be good for you to be the one who makes the first cut. I know your hair is an important part of who you are; if I'm going to change it, the change must begin with you."

I stared at my reflection in the mirror; should I do it? Should I let go of the last piece of resemblance I would have to my old self? Would I still recognize myself in the mirror once Blaine was done with me? Would Rachel recognize me?

I gently pressed the gold star into my chest, imprinting the skin of my finger and my sternum. I took a breath.

"Show me where to make the cut."

"Sure thing, sweetheart."

The scissors sliced through the hair quickly, and I felt as if my head was several pounds lighter. Blaine was right; I did feel better. I felt like a weight had lifted; not all the weight, but just enough. He sat me down and started to finish off my hair, cutting and styling it to his satisfaction. He worked diligently and quickly; it felt like no time had passed at all by the time he was done. He gestured to the bathroom mirror, and I gazed at my reflection, relieved to see that it was still my face in the mirror.

"What do you think?" Blaine asked.

"I like it," I said brightly, gesturing towards my costume box. "Can't wait to see the rest of it."

"That's the spirit," Blaine grinned so widely I was afraid the corners of his lips might touch his ears. He helped me into the dress, lacing up the sides and placing a few stitches here and there to raise the hem or take in a seam that didn't quite sit right. Every detail was attended to, and there wasn't an inch of me that hadn't been carefully inspected by Blaine's diligent eye. Once the dress and heels were fitted, he applied my makeup; light foundation, a little gold highlight on the cheekbones, and dark, smokey eyeshadow with slashes of red and gold. The eyeliner and mascara were a deep, coal black and very heavy. He also ran what seemed like styling mousse through my hair, but once he finished, I realized it was some sort of quick-acting dye; my hair was now high-lighted and low-lighted with streaks of reddish and orangish blonde. Once the transformations as complete, he lead me to the full length mirror in the bathroom, and I smiled warmly at my reflection.

"I feel like I'm glowing a little," I said, leaning in closer to inspect the makeup and hair. "I like the streaks. Subtle, yet vibrant. Good job, Blaine. I wish I could have hired someone to dress me like this years ago. I'll never wear another cardigan again."

"Never say never, sweetheart. Fashion's a fickle bitch," he offered his arm to me and I took it. In the heels I was almost an entire head taller than him, but he didn't seem to mind; in fact, he was walking on sunshine. I couldn't help but feel myself soften a little bit to his obnoxious demeanor; who was I to rain on his parade, anyway? I could feel the pride beaming off of him as we walked towards the common room on the train; everyone deserved a moment like this.

We arrived at the door, and Blaine told me to wait for a moment in the hallway as he walked through the door alone. I held my breath and waited for the signal for me to reveal myself to Finn, Sue, and Effie, and I closed my eyes for a moment to prepare for the fact that in just a few hours, I would be revealing myself once again to the world.

"Ladies and gentleman, it is my greatest pleasure and honor to present you with district 12's female tribute for the 74th Hunger Games…" I walked through the door to stand beside Blaine, and an audible gasp of elation and joy escaped Effie's mouth.

"… Quinn Fabray, the Lion-Hearted Girl."

_Lion-Hearted Girl?_

_ Yes. I like that._

_ And I think… I think that is what I will become._

__**Author's Notes:** Holy crap guys, this one was a long one! And I had to cut it short, because the next section is also really wordy (though that means that a large chunk of the next chapter is done, and should be up soon.) I apologize for not updating for a few weeks; please take this very long chapter as my apology gift. Real life has been rather hectic for me lately, but I do the best I can to continue this piece of fanfiction. For those of you wondering about the state of the blog; I have two illustrations I am working on to post there (one of them is of the dress described in this chapter,) and the chapters will be uploaded and up to date soon. Thanks to my incredibly wonderful and patient readers: you guys are awesome. Enjoy this chapter, and I'll work my butt off to get Chapter 6 out before the weekend is through!


	6. Chapter 6: The World Wants a Show

Effie, Sue, Blaine, Finn and I settled in around a lavish table set with a breakfast feast fit for a king. Almost immediately, Finn started filling up his plate with a healthy portion of every single dish laid out before him: four different kinds of eggs, pastry treats, various types of toast, bacon, sausages, pancakes, crepes, and many more things I couldn't even identify. I also took a generous portion of food despite my lack of an appetite, knowing that it wouldn't be long before I'd be surviving off of whatever meager subsistence I could scavenge in the arena. A wide smile broke across my face when I poured myself a cup of coffee; the smell was indescribably wonderful, and just the scent of it made me feel a little more alert and relaxed. I had developed a taste for coffee at a young age because of William, who would let me take small sips from his cup whenever he was at the house in the morning. The coffee back home might as well have been tap water compared to the wonderful elixir that I was currently pouring into my cup. The scent was strong, but slightly spiced; almost like cinnamon. It reminded me of Santana's shop, and though a twinge of sadness crept into me at the thought, I decided to take comfort in it instead. Little comforts would, hopefully, get me through the next few days.

I looked over at Finn as he poured himself a cup of coffee as well, but the look on his face was closer to caution in the face of unfamiliarity. It occurred to me that he probably had never had coffee before; it was a luxury item in our district, and though many of the miners would drink it in the mornings when they could afford it, it appeared that Finn had never had the desire to taste it before now.

"Is it good?" he asked quietly, staring at his cup intently as if he was expecting it to bite him if he looked away.

"It's an acquired taste, honestly. It can be bitter if you don't add a little milk and sugar," I said, and he dropped two lumps of sugar into his cup followed by a splash of milk. I sipped at my own coffee contently, trying my best to not laugh as Finn sniffed at his own cup suspiciously. He took an experimental sip, smacking his tongue against his lips with a scowl on his face. He took a larger sip and his face contorted as if he had bitten into a lemon. I could see that he desperately wanted to dribble the contents of his mouth back into the cup, but fortunately he managed to force himself to swallow. He immediately reached for a glass of apple juice and took a big gulp, swishing it around in his mouth for a few moments. I had to cover my mouth to stifle my giggles, and he smiled crookedly and shrugged his shoulders.

"Guess I'm not really cut out for fancy drinks," he said, tearing into his pancakes. "Though I doubt anyone expected someone like me to have refined tastes."

"I think it's dreadful too, handsome, don't worry about it," Blaine commented, sipping at his tea. Finn furrowed his brow in confusion for a moment, but he quickly returned to wolfing down his pancakes before moving on to the eggs.

"He's just a simple man, Blaine, he doesn't need this high society, etiquette bullshit," I grinned, slowly working my way through a cheese danish.

"Simple? Don't be rude. He's rugged. Manly," Blaine smiled devilishly when his comment resulted in yet another confused furrow of the brow from Finn. I kicked Blaine's knee under the table.

"Hey. He plays for my team," I said, and Blaine put his hands up innocently.

"I'd appreciate it if you two pretty princesses would stop playing footsie under the table," Sue sneered, jabbing Blaine with her butter knife. "We have yet another Capitol propaganda informercial to suffer through and I'd like to get all the patriotic bullshit out of the way as soon as possible."

"Sue," Effie warned, punching the buttons on the monitor at the head of the table. "For once in your life, can you at least pretend to be civil?"

"Speaking of princesses…" Sue grumbled under her breath. Effie's smile tightened; it was obvious that she had a lot of experience with Sue's scathing personality.

"Here it is, everyone," Effie said brightly, and the Capitol anthem began to play on the monitor over a backdrop of a waving flag. Sue groaned and rolled her eyes as the narration began. The narrator went on for a few moments about the grand tradition of the Hunger Games before cutting to District 1's Reaping ceremony. The number of volunteers was unbelievable; there was a brief summary of the selection process for the volunteers, which involved a series of tests of skill to narrow down the potential tributes, followed by a vote amongst the volunteers who were disqualified for who should enter the games. The two candidates were finally selected; their names were Marvel and Glimmer. They were pretty typical of District 1 tributes; their eyes seemed to burn with cold determination, and they were sure to be a major threat. I felt a knot of nervousness develop in my stomach, and I glanced over to Finn. He was eating at a slower pace, but seemed otherwise unfazed. I smiled slightly at this; at least one of us wasn't going to be a nervous wreck for the rest of the day.

The coverage then cut to District 2; it was similar to District 1's Reaping, but the final candidates were decided with a small arena battle instead of a popular vote. I gasped when I realized that several of the potential tributes were beaten within an inch of their lives, and I suspected that one or two may have died on camera. I forced myself to not look away, knowing that this was only a taste of what was to come. The two tributes selected were Cato and Clove; a brute of a boy and a vicious young girl. Their eyes burned with cold and calculated bloodlust rather than determination, and I knew in that instant that they would be the biggest threat.

District 3 had no volunteers, much to my surprise, but the two tributes seemed pleased to be selected. I was struck by how wholly unremarkable they were in comparison to District 1 and 2's tributes. They seemed competent, but not dangerous in the way that Cato, Clove, Marvel and Glimmer appeared. The music swelled and there was a brief interlude with magnificent shots of ships sailing in stormy weather, then a montage of District 4's magnificent coastline. I glanced at Effie and she raised her chin slightly at me, exhaling nervously.

"And in District 4, history has been made! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in the history of the Hunger Games, District 4 has a legacy tribute!" the narrator spoke over the ceremony, and I leaned closer, holding my breath in anticipation. So there's a legacy tribute this year? Is that what all of the fuss was about? The coverage made several quick cuts to conceal the identity of the legacy tribute for several infuriating moments as the narrator built up anticipation for the big reveal. He broke with tradition and announced the male tribute first, and my heart sank in sympathy; it was a 12 year old boy named Crow. It was bad enough that the Hunger Games pitted the older kids against each other; it was almost unforgivably cruel when they threw the youngest possible tributes into the arena as well. They're usually the first to die; what chance does a 12 year old boy have against a muscle bound, murderous career like Cato?

"And now, the moment you've been waiting for, ladies and gentlemen… from the Pierce family of District 4, I give you… Brittany!"

At the same time, Finn and I choked on our drinks, spewing coffee and apple juice across the table as we both sputtered and coughed. Blaine squealed in a girly voice and dabbed his sleeve with his napkin, and Effie's eyes immediately locked onto mine.

Several seconds of awkward silence passed.

"Is there something you two would like to share with the class?" Sue asked condescendingly. Finn was drying himself off with his napkin, but I was frozen in place, staring into my emptied coffee cup. My knuckles were turning white from the force with which I was gripping the cup, and I wasn't sure whether I wanted to cry or scream.

"What is Brittany doing in District 4?" Finn asked me.

"What makes you think I would know?" I answered; my voice sounded hollow and distant to me.

"I thought her dad moved to the Capitol shipping district with her," Finn responded. "At least, that's what she said to everyone, right?"

"Yes," I breathed. My grip tightened even more around the cup as I stared at her face on the screen; she was smiling her usual bright and toothy smile. Her blue eyes and tanned skin glowed in the bright sunlight. She was a little taller than I remember, her skin was more tanned, and her hair was shot through with golden streaks from the coastal sun… but it was her. It was our Brittany.

_Santana's Brittany._

_ Oh… Oh God._

"Am I missing something here?" Effie interjected. "You know her? How do you know someone from District 4?"

"She's not from District 4. She's from District 12. At least… we thought she was a native of District 12," Finn said. "She left a while ago with her dad. He was a trader, and he was able to buy a ship of his own. She said he wanted to expand his trade business in the Capitol, and so they left District 12. It was a pretty big deal since it's really rare for anyone to move out of District 12 to anywhere, let alone the Capitol. I remember there was a going away party for her… but I didn't know her very well. She was super close with Santana, and Santana kind of frightens me so…"

"Were you friends with her Quinn?" Blaine asked gently, and I nodded. I felt like reality had slipped away from me; I understood what had happened, but I was unable to internalize it. The reality of it was refusing to sink in.

"She was Santana's…" I trailed off as my mind screamed at me to pick my words very carefully. "… best friend."

"I hate to interrupt but can we save this for the end of the Reaping ceremonies?" Sue said firmly, gesturing to the screen. The narrator droned on about district 5 and 6, but I didn't absorb a single word of it. I sat and stared into my cup, feeling the all-too familiar sensation of fear slowly closing its' fingers around my neck. I thought about Santana back in District 12, watching the Reaping coverage. I wondered if she was alone, or if she was with Puck and Rachel; if she wasn't alone, I'm sure she immediately found a safe place to hide while her world came crashing down around her once again. I wondered if she was paralyzed like me, or if she broke down in fear or rage. I had only seen Santana cry twice; the second time was when she said goodbye to me yesterday. The first time was when Brittany left. I remember her cradled between Rachel and I in a broken heap, sobbing so hard that I was afraid she was never going to stop. It was like her heart had shattered, and though she eventually was able to return to a relatively normal existence, it was like a part of her was missing. The spark that was once a vibrant flame had burned down to a dying ember, and what was left of Santana's heart seemed to be broken beyond repair. Santana's life with Brittany was filled with laughter, joy, and song. After Brittany left, the laughter eventually returned… but the songbird never sang again.

_"Come on Britt, dance for me," Santana begged, tugging at the taller girl's shirt sleeve. Rachel and I smiled knowingly at them from across the room, huddled up next to the fire in Santana's living room. It was late; Santana's mother and grandmother were across town tending to a sick child, so we had the whole shop and house to ourselves. We had shuttered all the windows to keep out the cold and prying eyes, and the only light in the room was from the fireplace. Rachel and I were tangled together under a pile of quilts that the four of us had set out to sleep on, since it was far too cold upstairs. Brittany took Santana's hands in hers, leading her into the middle of the room._

_ "Nuh uh. I can't," she grinned and linked her pinky finger into Santana's. I was never quite sure why they did that, but it was something that was uniquely theirs. Rachel sighed a little; she was definitely a hopeless romantic, and even I could admit that it was impossible to not feel unbelievably happy while watching Santana and Brittany interact with each other in such an adorable and loving manner. The four of us had little freedom to be openly affectionate in District 12; even holding hands or a lingering gaze was enough to raise suspicions and rumors amongst the townsfolk, and it was the sort of attention that none of us could afford to draw to ourselves if we wanted to remain safe. So, it was rare nights like these that we treasured the most; nights when we could be ourselves._

_ "Come on, please? I love it when you dance," Santana continued, and Brittany pulled her closer, placing a hand on her shoulder and her other hand around Santana's waist._

_ "I can't, San," Brittany insisted._

_ "Why can't you?" Santana pouted her lips like a stubborn child._

_ "Because there's no music," Brittany smiled. "Sing for me." Santana blushed furiously, shaking her head. "Come on, Songbird." Santana quickly glanced at Rachel and I, and we pulled the covers over our heads, gesturing that we wouldn't be listening, even though we both wanted to hear Santana sing. She sighed heavily and cleared her throat._

_ "Only for you," Santana said softly and began to sing._

_ To you, I'll give the world. To you, I'll never be cold,'cause I feel that when I'm with you… it's alright. I know it's right. _

_ And the songbirds are singing like they know the score… And I love you, I love you, I love you; like never before._

I gasped in pain as the coffee cup shattered in my hands, and suddenly everyone's eyes were on me. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, and my chest burned with an indescribable new feeling that was a blend of fear, pain, despair, and guilt. I immediately grabbed a napkin and held it to my hands, feeling an all-too familiar sting in my palms and fingers.

"Quinn…?" Effie began to speak, but I stood up from the table and excused myself to the bathroom before she could finish her thought. I slammed my door shut behind me and hurried into the bathroom so I could wash my hands. Blood swirled down the drain and I blinked furiously to stop the tears from falling when I realized I had cut both of my palms rather severely.

"Way to go, Quinn. The only thing you're really good at is fucking up," I said bitterly, opening and closing my hands in the water. "Just so fucking stupid."

"Hey, none of that. I'm the stupid one, remember?" Finn was standing in the doorway behind me, and I could see him in the mirror above the sink. He had a small box with a red cross on the top of it in his hands, and he was shuffling through it haphazardly.

"You're not stupid, Finn," I said, pulling my hands out of the water. Blood immediately started dripping into the sink, and Finn finally found what he was looking for in the box. He rolled up his sleeves and took my hands in his, dabbing an incandescent green liquid on them. I flinched when it started to sting, but relaxed as it numbed the pain from the cuts.

"Yes I am. Everybody knows it. But it's okay, you know? I don't need to be smart. You don't really need to know algebra or classic literature to dig hunks of rock out of the ground," he smiled crookedly. "But you're not stupid, Quinn. You're probably the smartest girl I know. Prettiest, too." He sat down on the toilet lid as I leaned against the wall beside the door.

"You always were kind of sweet. In a dopey, awkward kind of way," I said, smiling. "Sorry. I mean…"

"I know what you mean. And thanks. Not a lot of people say nice things about me. I know I'm dense; I don't always understand stuff the first time around. Like you and Rachel…" he trailed off a little when I started to laugh. "What's so funny?"

"Do you remember when you and I used to date? Oh God, I can finally apologize for using you to pretend to be straight, now that you know the truth. I'm so sorry, it really wasn't you. It's me. Okay, it is you, since you've got all the wrong parts..." I laughed a little harder, and Finn chuckled to himself.

"Yeah. Noah told me I was wasting my time. He said I wasn't your type. At the time I thought he meant that your dad didn't like me because I'm not, uh… a gentleman of high society, I guess, is how he would put it."

"I'm surprised you weren't immediately put off by how much of a frigid prude I was around you."

"Well, your dad is super religious. I just figured you were, you know, a good girl. You had a chastity ring and all that."

"Oh please that thing has long since been tainted-" I clamped my hand over my mouth and laughed again in embarrassment as Finn's face made a sudden shift from concern to confusion. It then made an even bigger shift to shock and then embarrassment as he grasped what I had just implied. "I mean. Partly. Not entirely. We haven't… well, we… can we just agree to never mention that last sentence ever again?"

"Yeah. Let's avoid that whole big ball of awkward. So… Santana and Brittany were friends, right?" he asked, making quotation marks in the air when he said the word 'friends.' I nodded, and he smiled brightly. "Ah, I knew it! See, I may be dense, but I'm not completely oblivious."

"They weren't exactly subtle about it. Especially Santana, once Brittany left..." I sighed, leaning my head against the wall.

"So what are you going to do?"

"About what?"

"About Brittany. And me."

"Finn, we just had a nice and happy moment… can we just enjoy it?"

"You can't avoid it forever."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"We're going to have to talk about it at some point."

"Now is not that time. Please… this is hard enough already, and if I talk about these things out loud… they become real, and I can't…" I looked at my hands, and was shocked to see that they had almost completely healed; I could see the pink scars across my palms, but the pain and the bleeding were completely gone. "Wow. That's amazing."

"The wonders of the Capitol," Finn shrugged, and stood up. I helped him straighten out his suit and fix his sleeve cuffs, and we walked out of the bathroom together. As we passed through the room, Finn pointed to the gardenia on my bedside stand. "Pretty. Is that from Rachel?"

"Yes," I said, blushing slightly. He picked it up and tucked it behind my ear.

"It'll make her happy if she sees you wearing that during the opening ceremonies. Come on; we have to talk to Effie and Sue before we get to the Capitol."

"Finn," I said softly. "You know what? You may not be great with words, and you're definitely no scholar, but you have a good heart. Please don't ever change."

"I'll try," Finn said, and we began to make our way back to the dining room.

"How did you know about the medical cream?" I asked.

"I'm really terrible at shaving," he admitted, pointing to several very faint scars on his face. "Blaine's assistants used it to patch up my face. So don't feel too foolish; no matter how many dumb things you do, you're never gonna top me."

"There you are! Are you okay Quinn?" Effie grabbed my hands and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw nothing but a few fading scars on my palms. "Oh good. No harm done. You didn't miss much; most of the candidates are older in age, but no one really stands out. You're just in time for our Reaping recap." Finn and I sat down at the table again, and images of the blast furnaces of District 12 flashed across the screen, followed by a few pretty scenery shots of the morning fog. The narrator was really playing up the drama, and the editing team had obviously spent a great deal of time on our section of the recap. When Rachel's name was called, I felt a sharp pain in my chest. The camera work was excellent; they had an almost constant focus on her face, and I had to resist the urge to reach out and touch the screen. The camera only broke from Rachel when Finn's voice rang out from the back of the crowd, and when I glanced over to him, he was stoic-faced and silent. I looked back at the screen, and Finn was now being showcased; he was shot from a low angle, which made him look much more brave and heroic than I remembered. However, the camera seemed to favor Rachel excessively, to the point that it was almost distracting.

When I heard my own voice on the tape, I shuddered a little; the memory was still fresh, and I felt so uncomfortable watching it play out in front of me that I started to feel sick to my stomach. I noticed that the cameraman managed to catch my father's reaction quite well, and several of the not-so-subtle gazes between Rachel and I. The seconds crawled by and when it was finally finished, Effie shut off the screen. I let out a sigh of relief that at least the broadcast was over, but I noticed that Effie's earlier enthusiasm had wavered somewhat. She seemed preoccupied and lost in thought, as if something was nibbling at the back of her mind. When her eyes met mine, she mouthed the word 'later' and went back to bickering with Sue about training and sponsorship issues. As much as I wanted to ask her what was on her mind, I knew we didn't have time to discuss it now; the train was beginning to slow down, and a shrill whistle signaled that we had finally arrived in the Capitol.

Finn and I immediately ran to the nearest window to get a glimpse of the city; it was more magnificent than I had ever imagined. A vast ocean port, a massive waterfall beneath the train tracks, buildings that towered hundreds of feet into the sky, ships larger than our entire town, airships floating above the city; it was so strange and alien, yet so breathtaking. Finn's mouth hung open in awe until we passed into a tunnel, cutting off our view. The train came to a complete stop at the station, and we were greeted with hundreds of smiling and cheering faces on the other side of the window. Their fashions were a thousand times more ridiculous than Blaine's and Effie's; piercings, tattoos, insane hair, strange creatures on leashes, all in vibrant and neon colors. The color was so saturated in the Capitol that it was rather overwhelming; my whole life, until now, had been spent in a world painted in shades of washed out grey. In a way, I felt like I was seeing the world for the first time.

Finn smiled warmly and waved at the crowd, who cheered and waved back. I followed his example, and the crowd cheered louder; I noticed that many of them were holding photos that had been taken by Blaine and his assistants only hours ago of myself and Finn; information must travel at lightning speeds here. Effie called us over to the door, and we were lead out of the train through a blocked off pathway that was lined with a red carpet. Effie instructed us to work the crowd, and Finn seemed to be a natural at it. I was unsure how to handle it all; I was shocked that I wasn't having a panic attack from all the chaos that surrounded me. I signed several photographs of me from the cheering crowd, which seemed to please them greatly. A young girl sitting on her father's shoulders waved a small stuffed lion at me, and I convinced the Enforcers to let her over the barrier for a moment.

"Will you sign her?" she asked and I complied, posing for several photos with her once I had finished. The Enforcers handed her back to her father over the barrier, and Effie began to march us forward into the tribute's compound. Finn seemed disappointed, since he had already received several 'good luck' kisses on the cheek from many attractive girls in the crowd, and he probably would have stayed for a hundred more if Effie let him. Once we entered the compound and the heavy doors shut behind us, I realized how surreal everything felt to me. It was so real it was almost impossible to comprehend, and yet it all felt like a fairy tale.

"Excellent call with that little girl, Quinn! That photo is just absolutely adorable, that's sure to win you some sponsor support. And Finn, what a charmer you are! I think we may have found an angle for you, my boy!" Effie was positively buzzing with enthusiasm, but Sue was her usual disinterested and antisocial self. She stalked off to the training area, telling Effie to take care of the ass-kissing for her.

"I'm getting progressively more and more worried about how little our trainer seems to care about us. Or anything at all," Finn said to Effie.

"Don't worry, Finn. She's always like that. She's horrible with the ceremonial and promotional aspects of the games, but you'll be glad to have her on your team once you two get into the training arena," Effie said in a reassuring tone, hurrying us through a gigantic set of doors that lead to the carriages for the opening ceremonies. "Now, we don't have any time to waste. They're starting the ceremony immediately; District 12's chariot is over there, now go! Girl on the left, boy on the right! Hurry, I'll be cheering you on from the game maker's room with the rest of the managers and staff! Make us proud, you two!" She hurried back through the doors, and Finn lifted me up into the black chariot before stepping up himself. Ours was the last chariot in the line; I tried to get a look at the other tributes, but the ceremony started before I had the chance. Each of the chariots was pulled by two beautiful black stallions, and it was only a matter of minutes before we were trotting along the center road in the Capitol's main audience auditorium.

The roar of the crowd was utterly deafening; hundreds of thousands of people cheered us on as we made our way to the circular courtyard that stood below the podium where President Snow and his cabinet were seated. I could just barely hear Ceasar Flickerman's enthusiastic voice over the roar of the crowd as he discussed this year's costumes with Claudius Templesmith. Ceasar and Claudius were the commentators for the Games, and had been for many years. Finn and I both struggled to maintain a smile instead of gaping at the sheer magnitude of the arena we were currently traveling through; it was too big to describe, like the mountains to the north of District 12. Each of the tribute chariots got a feature on the hundred-foot tall screens that hung all over the arena: many of the costumes were well designed this year, but not particularly remarkable. When Brittany's face popped up on the screen, I squeezed Finn's hand; she was wearing a flowing dress of blues and greens, and was covered head to toe in jewelry made of pearls and shells. Crow, the 12 year old boy from district 4, was dressed in a sea captain's uniform, looking rather handsome for such a young boy. I realized that there was some netting on Brittany's costume, and Crow was holding the other end of it in his hand.

"And from District 4 we have Brittany and Crow; oh, what a delightful pair of costumes they have this year! I believe that young sailor has caught himself a mermaid, wouldn't you say, Claudius?"

"Yes I would, Ceasar; and what a blonde beauty she is!"

When the cameras turned to us, Finn raised our hands in the air in a triumphant pose. I glanced at him for a second in confusion, but decided to go along with it when the action provoked an even louder cheer from the audience.

"And last but definitely not least, we have District 12's two brave volunteers, Quinn and Finn! God, that's catchy, ain't it?"

"Massive kudos to their new design team on those beautiful costumes; I love the ember motif and the diamonds. The cane is a nice touch. What a unique representation of the pride of District 12!"

"I think that District 12 is this year's underdog favorite, Claudius, perhaps even a front runner! Especially Quinn, the Lion-Hearted Girl. She's a real fan favorite this year…"

Though I still had a smile plastered across my face, it felt strange to hear Ceasar and Claudius discuss our district as something to cheer for and be proud of. It felt as if Finn and I were being typecast in a play without being allowed to read the script, and the idea of representing the hope of our district was both inspiring and terrifying at the same time. For a brief moment reality slid back into place, and it was beginning to sink in. The whole world, literally the whole world, was watching, and those eyes were on us. We were being made into symbols of bravery, love, family, and honor; we were no longer the mayor's daughter and the mining foreman's son. We were the tributes of District 12. And we were being made into heroes.

And just for a moment... I was beginning to feel like one.

As our chariots parked themselves in a semicircle around President Snow's towering podium, the crowd somehow managed to grow even louder. President snow approached the podium and gestured for the crowd to quiet down, and the roar slowly faded away into a very soft rumble. His podium was on a platform that was at least thirty feet above us, so it was impossible to get a good look at anyone standing on the platform. President Snow's face was projected onto the screens as he made the opening speech. it was short and succinct, as usual; Snow never seemed to be a big fan of public speaking. He introduced this year's game maker, though the roar of the crowd made it impossible to clearly hear her name. She stood and waved to the crowd briefly, shook Snow's hand, and returned to her seat. She was a strikingly attractive woman, but the camera didn't focus very long on her face, and I didn't get a very good look at her. I wondered if we would meet the game maker personally, and how strange it would be to meet the person who has the greatest control over who lives and who dies in the arena, other than the tributes themselves.

"I hope we get to meet her," I whispered to Finn. "I'd like to look my executioner in the eye." Finn didn't offer any response. The ceremony ended rather quickly, and we were carted back into the tribute's tower. Effie ran to greet us as we stepped off the chariot, leading us towards the elevators.

"The tower will be your home until you enter the arena. It has all the amenities you could possibly want or need, as well as a full staff. Anything you want or need, just ask for it. The sky's the limit. Speaking of the sky," she paused as the elevator doors slid open, revealing an extravagant room with a glass ceiling and a huge bay window overlooking the Capitol skyline and waterfront. "One of the reasons I like representing District 12 is that while we may be the end of the line for the train, we're at the top of the world in the tribute tower! We get the penthouse! Now, there isn't really a whole lot for you to do until this evening, and training doesn't start until tomorrow, so you have some free time to do… well, whatever you like, as long as you stay in the penthouse. Blaine will be by around 5 PM with your interview clothing, I'll be in around 6 PM. I'm so proud of both of you!"

"Effie," I said quickly as she turned to leave. "I think I might try out that special bath salt combination you talked about with me earlier. Would you mind showing me again which scents to use?" I stared at her intently and hoped she would understand what I was trying to do.

"Absolutely," she said brightly, much to my relief. "Let's do that right now; if you're going to take a bath, Blaine will need time to reapply your makeup. Follow me. Oh- Finn! Finn, will you be alright on your own?"

"Yep!" Finn shouted back, carrying an armful of snacks towards the large television screen in the living room. He made himself a nest on the couch with the pillows and the food, and began browsing through the channels.

"They say watching too much television rots your brain," Effie joked. "But I'm sure a few hours won't kill him." She led me to my room and stopped a few few short of the door, gesturing for me to walk through first. I walked up to it and it slid open.

"Fuck!" I yelped, stumbling back as the doors slid open to reveal a female figure.

"It would be much appreciated," she said coolly, "if you would mind your language, Miss Fabray."

"What are you doing here, Shelby?" Effie growled. "If anyone finds out you're talking to a specific tribute, it could be seen as favoritism. I could lose sponsorship-"

"There is no official rule that prohibits the game maker from speaking to the tributes, Miss Trinkett," Shelby said in a tone that was dripping with venom. "We are allowed to do research to construct an arena that plays to both the strengths and weaknesses of every single competitor; what better way to collect information than to speak directly to the tributes? Now, I would very much appreciate it if you would give me a few moments alone with Miss Fabray… and if you are thinking of objecting to my request, I should remind you that it is not in your tribute's best interests to be uncooperative with the game maker." Effie clenched her teeth but did not argue.

"I'll be right outside, Quinn," Effie told me, and slammed the doors shut behind her. Shelby turned her eyes back to me, and I felt the temperature in the room drop by a few degrees. Her features were striking and sharp; high cheekbones, pale skin, dark hair, and eyes that seemed to glisten like ice. Everything about her felt cold and calculating.

"What can I do for you?" I asked suspiciously, and a slight smirk crept across Shelby's face.

"I am simply acquiescing to your request, Miss Fabray. You said you wanted to meet your executioner, so here I am."

"… how did you-"

"I'd have thought you would have caught on to the fact that every single thing you say and do is being recorded, but perhaps I overestimated your intelligence. We hear everything, Miss Fabray. I am here to remind you of that. If you want to win these games, you will need to keep the snide remarks to yourself in the future."

"I'll keep that in mind," I sneered. Shelby took a heavy breathe, and leaned in closely.

"Listen to me, you arrogant little brat. You are interfering with things you can't possibly understand. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into by volunteering in Rachel's place. You are making my life very, very complicated right now, and all I am asking of you is to not play with matches next to a powder keg. I do not think I am making an unreasonable request."

"I don't understand how a volunteer tribute from the worst district could possibly have any effect on your life or your arena," I said; she was now standing so close to me that I had to look up at her. She was remarkably tall. The longer I stared at her face, the more I started to feel this nagging feeling of familiarity. I examined her features carefully, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was that I found familiar about her face.

"Quinn…" she sighed. "I know you're a clever girl; surely you've noticed that nothing is going according to plan this year. Whether you like it or not, everyone is watching you; and some of the people who are paying attention are very important and powerful. I am not here to tell you to watch your language and what you say because of editing concerns or because some viewers are turned off by swear words and a snide attitude. I am telling you to pick your words carefully because you are the sort of spark that quickly becomes an all-consuming flame. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you, Quinn? Do you understand how frightening you are? If you want to survive and get back to home to Rachel, you need to control the flame."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked. "What the fu-…what is going on here?"

"Please, Quinn. You know I cannot tell you that. I have said all that I can say. I am trying to protect you-"

"Why?"

"By volunteering for these games, you have put me in your debt… such a large debt that I do not know if I can ever truly repay it," Shelby's voice wavered slightly, and I could tell that she was picking her words very carefully. "I am protecting you in the only way that I can by offering you this warning. By volunteering you have inadvertently dropped yourself into the middle of something far bigger than the games. You have made some very important people very, very angry. You have unknowingly altered the course of history; and I think if you did understand what you've done, you wouldn't be able to do what you need to do next."

"And what is that?"

"Win. You need to win."

"How do you expect me to do that!?"

"Figure it out, Fabray. And never forget; the whole world is watching. Act accordingly. Good luck with your interview later this evening," Shelby turned walked briskly out of the room before I had the chance to question her further. I sat down on the bed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and deep thought. I could see Shelby glare at Effie before shoving past her, and Effie made a rather immature face when Shelby was walking away from her towards the elevators. I smiled; it was nice to know that Effie was unapologetically human.

"What the hell was that all about?" Effie asked, securely shutting the door behind her. I shook my head and shrugged, running my fingers through my hair.

"She heard something I said in the chariots during the opening ceremonies," I explained. "I… said to Finn that I wanted to meet my executioner. Please don't lecture me about it, I know it was snide and foolish… well, I realize that now."

"I've heard worse from tributes, Quinn. Everything from blasphemy to treason. I've never had a game maker come talk to one of my tributes privately. What did she say to you?"

"She said… she said she owed me a debt for volunteering. And she warned me to watch my language and my tone, because apparently I'm some sort of threat… it didn't make a lot of sense. I don't know… I don't understand what any of that was about."

"Tell me everything she said. Get as close as you can to a direct quote."

I recounted the conversation to the best of my ability, and as Effie listened, I could see her expression darken from annoyance and confusion into worry and determination. When I finished my story, Effie was silent for several moments as she reviewed my words in her head.

"Well, I guess I wasn't far off the mark when I said you've been dropped into the middle of something far bigger than yourself," Effie breathed, glancing towards the door and the windows nervously. "I just wish either of us had any fucking clue as to what that 'something' is." I laughed and she jumped in surprise. "How is any of that funny?"

"No, no… I just… I've never heard you swear," I smiled crookedly.

"The situation calls for strong language. If you're part of this, then that means I'm a part of it too. You are my responsibility. It's my job to keep you safe. I'm sorry Quinn… I realize that this is unprofessional, but I am just so… fucking… frustrated. No one will tell me anything. No explanation for the editing delays, no explanation for all of the last-minute changes to our itinerary, just silence. It's infuriating. I can't do my job, and I hate it. I'm used to getting short-sticked at every corner because I represent District 12, but this is a whole new level of fucked up. Something is happening. Something big. Something scary. And I can't do a fucking thing to help you through it."

"Effie…" I started, but stopped when I couldn't find the words. Her eyes burned with frustration, but also with fear and concern. I suddenly felt a twinge of guilt, realizing that I had wasted so many years dismissing her as a shallow and heartless individual. The last few days had truly taught me that one should not judge a book by its' cover. I could see tears threatening at the corners of her eyes.

"Because of you and Finn, for the first time I feel like I can do my job properly. I have two amazing tributes who have a real chance at winning this thing. Just once, I have two tributes who don't see me as a villain. I have two tributes who I could get to know for longer than a few weeks. It's not even about my success… it's just… just once I don't want to have to sit up at night thinking about how much my district hates me. Just once I'd like to be able to go back after the games and hear cheers instead of grieving silence. Maybe then I could find a way to have some faith in all of this, and that sometimes the underdogs win. I want to remember how to feel hope. I know it sounds so trite from a person in my position, and that's why I hate myself for it. I don't know the despair of the soul-crushing reality that is life in District 12… but the one thing I do understand is the pain from watching someone you care about die in a disgustingly unfair manner."

"Effie-" I tried to say something, anything of comfort, but she shook her head at me to silence my commentary.

"No. Don't. I know I am not one of you, and I don't feel all of your pain… but I just wish the district could see that I feel some of it. Year after year, I get to know a pair of young individuals, and then I get to watch them get slaughtered in a competition that is so unfair that it would be funny if it didn't involve human lives. I don't sleep- well, I do, but not well. It hurts. And it gets worse every year, because I have to put on a cheery face and try to help two young people who are being sent to their untimely deaths. I remember them. All of them. I remember their names and their faces. I remember their voices. I remember the things that they like. I remember their strengths and weaknesses. And it truly haunts me. And yet… this is my pain, and my pain only. No one else will understand it. I cannot relate to the people of my district, because they see me as a merchant of death, and I am not one of them. I cannot relate to my coworkers, because no one else cares about District 12. And though this is my cross to bear… in a way, I feel like maybe I'm worth redeeming because at least I care enough to remember them. All of them. Maybe if this all ends someday, I won't be up for the hangman's noose… because at least I tried. And at least I cared."

"I don't know what to say," I said honestly. Effie blinked a few tears out of her eyes and quickly wiped them away with her sleeve.

"There's nothing you can say, Quinn. That's just the way it is. Though you probably have a good idea of how much I wish that it didn't have to be this way. Look… you've got an interview in a few hours, and I've got to go win you as many sponsors as I can. You have no idea how much I'd love to continue this conversation, but there just isn't time right now," she sighed and stood up, straightening her clothing and smoothing out her hair. "We've both got a job to do right now; but I promise we'll come back to all of this later. Hopefully after a good night's rest and a couple of drinks."

"Effie," I said, grabbing her arm before she could walk out of the room. I pulled her into a tight hug, and she went rigid at the gesture. After a few moments she hugged me back. "You can get a good night's rest tonight, because even if the rest of District 12 hates you… at least you know that there is one person who doesn't."

"Thank you," Effie whispered. She tousled my hair a little, and gave me a warm smile before leaving the room. I sat back down on the edge of the bed, trying to absorb everything that had happened in the last few hours. Thoughts and theories screamed in my head as I laid back against the soft mattress, and try as I might, I couldn't seem to connect the dots.

It wasn't until I awoke with a jolt to Blaine shaking my shoulder that I realized that I had fallen asleep.

**Author's Notes:** Holy crap guys, finals were awful. But the semester is over, so 'real life' will no longer be getting in the way. At least until the end of January. Thank you for all of the views, reviews, favorites and follows. I love you all. Your support means the world to me.


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